The Evil Lady E
by PirateMistress
Summary: PostPotC: Dead Man's Chest. Captain Jack Sparrow is restored to life after Elizabeth sealed his fate with a kiss. He alone has the power to either drown her in fiery passion... or the coldest depths of the Caribbean sea. Dark, but with humor. Some angst.
1. Kiss of Death

The Evil Lady E

_Summary: Post PotC: Dead Man's Chest. Captain Jack Sparrow is restored to life with a mission: forgive Elizabeth for his murder, or kill her before she becomes the evil Lady E._

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THESE be

Three silent things:

The falling snow ... the hour

Before the dawn ... the mouth of one

Just dead. Adelaide Crapsey, "Triad"

Dead men tell no tales. Pirate Proverb

Chapter 1: Kiss of Death

The sea was dark, and cold. Colder than he thought the Caribbean ever could be. But, maybe that was just because he was dying. The only part of him that still felt warm was his mouth, which he'd kept tightly closed in the hopes of preventing the sea water from rushing into his lungs and finishing what Elizabeth had started just a short while ago.

He'd managed to cut his way out of the Kraken, plunging his sword indiscriminately into its scaly hide, finally carving out a triangle in its monstrous neck and pushed through to find the ocean. Which would have been fine, except they were already far beneath the surface. He would never make it. Even as he tried, swimming harder and faster than he'd ever swum before, resisting his own body's desperate urges to inhale, he knew he was doomed.

Funny, he'd always heard that your life flashed before your eyes when you were dying. Instead of images of how'd he'd lived – rum, beaches, the _Pearl_, Aztec gold, a childhood better left forgotten – what washed over him was, in fact, his death. Emotions warred for dominance, each leaving him weakened and more ready to simply part his lips and let the sea claim him forever.

The first was shock, clean and simple. When Elizabeth had moved closer to him, her tawny hair blowing in the breeze, wearing that ridiculous man's outfit, saying not – as he expected – that she was angry with him for deserting them in the first place, but proud of him for returning, and saving all their lives (for, if he hadn't picked up the gun when he did, and shot the net full of powder, the Kraken would have eaten them all), he was surprised. When she came closer still, and he could smell her clean, light scent – never knew a murderer could smell like _that_ – and raised her pink, parted mouth to his, he was more surprised, but something made him give in, ignore the warnings clamoring in his brain, kiss that sassy, proper mouth for all he was worth. He never even had a second to think, as his tongue swept hers and his hands came around her back to yank her closer, that he was about to die. Then he heard the ominous _clink_ of the shackles.

And he'd open his eyes to see her face, and known he was lost. Terror. Of all the men he'd faced, monsters he'd battled, scrapes and hard places he'd wound up in, terrible, horrible things he'd seen that made his blood curdle, none frightened him truly and deeply as much as Elizabeth's face at that moment.

Her chin was raised in hard defiance, her eyes, usually so warm and sparking with enchantment, or mischief, whichever she was creating at the time, were instead dark beads filled with purpose. And something else. Hatred... he had never seen hatred like that in a woman's eyes, and he smiled then, knowing he was done for, covering the terror with an equally defiant smirk.

When she'd told him she wasn't sorry – she wasn't _sorry_? – he almost thought she would kiss him again, for real this time, at least to say goodbye. Shame washed over him as he realized this – a _real_ kiss – was his last desire of this world. That and, of course, to live. But she'd taken care of that.

It was not to be, she told him she wasn't sorry (she could at least have pretended not to hate him, if you're sending a man to his grave, why not at last give him that?) and left him there, chained to the mast, to face the Kraken when it came.

Then, of course, followed the inevitable emotion that seemed to constantly permeate his worthless existence: regret.

If he'd only done something to get out of this mess earlier, found another way to appease Davey Jones, fought more valiantly, trusted someone to help him, talked his way out of it... but it was no use. And Elizabeth... the regret of _that_ was deep and clinging and squeezing his lungs from the inside so that he wasn't sure if he would die first of the sea water or the bursting of his own, horrifically broken heart.

_Elizabeth, I saved you. I SAVED you from the sea. How could you?_

If he'd tried to tell her, tried to make her understand that he loved her, that he'd come back to the _Pearl_ partly because of her... tried to show her that he was a man, and not a coward, maybe if he'd never rowed away...

But truthfully, things had gone wrong with Elizabeth long before that, and she'd made a fool of him before... how could he have ever trusted that smile, those eyes, that too-thin body that still set his blood on fire whenever he was near her? And in a way, he was glad, too, to have finally known the real Elizabeth. Not the proper British girl, the virgin, the soon-to-be faithful wife. The one under all of that.

The murderous _bitch_.

He could swear he would teach her a lesson, strangle her, drown her, anything to make her pay for the horror and grief that was tearing him apart. But it was too late. And besides, he began to feel strangely at peace with it all as he struggled, seeing the light of the sun far above him in the water. He didn't have to fight any more. He'd been keeping his mouth closed, but he didn't have to any more...he had been trying to preserve that last piece of life, the sweet taste of her on his lips and breath and tongue, but there was no use, now. Let the sea take it. The taste of her was seared permanently on his soul, and it was the taste of death. He welcomed it.

As the water filled his lungs, dragging him downward, he felt no pain. Only the warmth – and torture – of a beautiful lady's soft kiss.


	2. It's a Wonderful Death

Chapter 2: It's A Wonderful Death

"Jack Sparrow."

The eerie, whispered words echoed in his brain.

"Jack... Jack Sparrow."

_No_, he mentally answered them. _I want to die. Leave me to die in peace_.

"I can't do that, Jack, not yet." Still distant, soft reverberations in his head.

_She killed me_, he told the voice. All was still blackness.

"I know, Jack. Listen now."

_I can't hear anything, I'm dead_.

"You're only dead if you won't listen to me, Captain Sparrow."

At the sound of his proper title from the deep voice, Jack felt some of the fog clear his brain. _Fine. Talk. Not that it'll do me any good. I've been murdered._

"Jack, you've come to a difficult place. I know it's not easy. But there's a chance you can go back."

_Where am I? Is this hell?_

The voice seemed to laugh. Jack felt oddly weightless, and he couldn't seem to open his eyes, or lift his hands. It was dark, but he wasn't frightened.

"Jack, there were things you were meant to do in your life."

_Yes, like see my fiftieth birthday_.

"More than that, Jack... you're a man of great intelligence, and strength. You're needed in the world."

_Find Lizzy and tell _her_ that, why don't you?_

"If you could tell her that yourself, would you?"

_I can't say I ever want to see her again. So no._

"I can't give you that, Jack. There's something you need to do."

_I'm through doin'. I drowned._

"Jack, there are things you need to see. Things that will happen if you die."

_Such as? More rum for the rest of them?_

"No, Jack. Worse. I'm going to show you, and you must watch."

_I guess I haven't got anything better to do, have I?_

"Watch, Jack." The voice faded, and suddenly Jack could see again.

He was outside Tia Dalma's hut – above, actually - and there were candles all around. By the force of thinking, he moved closer, and then he was inside the roof.

"If there were anything that could be done," Will was saying. "Anything to bring him back. Would you do it?"

Elizabeth seemed frozen to her chair, clutching a mug of tea. She did not answer. The others did, and she was the last. "Yes," she said, ever the politely spoken lady.

_Liar_, Jack thought. Then he saw Tia saying something - what devilry was she up to now? – and then he saw who was walking, heavily, down the stairs.

_Barbossa! That bastard's supposed to be dead. What's the witch been doing?_

He turned his eyes to Will, who was eyeing Barbossa suspiciously. _Don't do it, Will. Don't trust him. Don't trust _her_, either._ He saw the young man sigh, setting his cup of tea aside. Poor Will. He would not understand. And he would never know what a dangerous woman he'd married.

Just like that, he was floating out of there and it faded.

Now he was high above the ocean, and there were two ships beneath him. One was sinking... the mast fallen, holes blown in it, a fire claiming what was left of the deck. The other – flying pirate colors, he saw – had captured the crew and had them lined up, facing the pirate captain pacing in front of them in a red vest and breeches with billowing white sleeves. As he got closer, he saw the captain's hat, a black three-cornered, with a tawny ponytail escaping from the back. He moved closer to listen.

She was stopped in front of a young man who blubbered helplessly, looking down at the deck.

"Please, Lady E... take our cargo, lock us up...b-but I want to see me wife and son again. P-please. I've ne'er harmed you. The battle's yours. Just let us live. We'll sit in the brig, we'll be no trouble, I promise."

She approached the young sailor, bending her knees slightly to peer into his face. "You're afraid to fight me, sailor?"

The young man hesitated, unsure what to say. He coughed out a sob. "N-no. I mean, y-yes, Lady E, anyone'd be afraid to fight you."

"Shhh, it will be all right," she said then, smiling, stroking his cheek with her hand. "Relax, now, it's going to be okay."

The young man dropped his eyes to the deck and nodded shakily.

Then she withdrew her dagger and plunged it into his neck, cutting his throat, spilling his blood on the deck. The other crewmen gasped, one fell to his knees, an old man. "My son!" he cried. Another began to cry.

Brutally she yanked the dagger back, and the young man's body fell limply to the deck. She extended her arm, holding the bloody point out in front of each man's face in turn, walking before them.

"There is nothing I despise more than cowardice. A coward is the lowest form of life. I killed my first coward when I was twenty, and I've killed a hundred since."

The captured crewmen seemed to quake even more, and one or two stared blankly into space, seeing their doom before them.

_I don't want to see this_, Jack thought, wondering if the voice could hear him.

"You must," it answered.

"Here's their anchor, Lady E," said the first mate, approaching the captain. A number of crewmen struggled behind them, carrying the anchor.

"Good," she said. "Bind their feet and hands, and wrap their ankles in the rope. Then drop the anchor." She turned and walked up the deck steps to the helm, seemingly deaf to the cries and pleas of the captured crewmen.

"No, Lady E. Please! Have mercy! Have mercy on us!"

Jack shut the horrific images out, unable to listen to the men's cries any more. _Make it stop_.

Then he was high above a town. A port town, from the looks of it, right on the blue Caribbean. It was a beautiful day, the sun shone brightly, and he was above the top of a tower. Port Royal, he realized. He had been there. He had fallen from that tower.

Now, as he watched, a woman walked slowly toward it. Elizabeth, he realized. She wore the same man's clothes as in the previous vision, but she wore no hat and her hair blew free. He also noticed her feet were bare.

As she came closer he could see her face. Her eyes were puffy and red, and her face lined, too old for the rest of her. She couldn't be more than thirty. She carried an empty bottle in her hand – rum, he suspected – and as she walked, she tossed it forcefully against the stone wall. It shattered. She blew through him like he was a puff of smoke, headed for the stone ledge that dropped off into the sea. She stopped in front of it, looking down.

_No_, Jack thought. _I can't watch this. Anything but this_.

Her hair blew in the breeze, reflecting the golden sunlight. Then she put one foot, followed by the other, on the stone ledge.

_Don't, love. Be careful, you'll fall._ He tried to warn her, knowing full well she couldn't hear, knowing also that she intended to put herself in danger.

Elizabeth inched her toes closer to the precipice, tilting her chin down to glance at the rocks and raging surf below. Then she looked up, and he saw in her eyes the same hard, determined glimmer he remembered from the deck of the _Pearl_.

She turned her head to the side, and he felt as though she were looking at him. Or through him, as the case may be.

"Goodbye, Jack," she said. And jumped, bending her arms behind her in a swan dive as she fell, rapidly, to the sea.

_What's happened to her? Why is she like this?_ Jack begged the voice.

"She's consumed with hatred, Jack. So much that it hardens her to everything else."

_Hatred? She still hates me?_

"No, Jack. She hates herself, for what she's done to you. It's been her own, terrible secret all these years. The pain has taken over. It's made her a monster...this evil 'Lady E'."

_Still a secret? What about Will?_

Silence.

_What about Will? What happens to Will?_

Silence.

_Tell me. I have to know._

It was light again, and Jack was witnessing a battle at sea. Only one ship this time, and swords drawn and clanging wildly as apparently a mutiny had broken out.

"Barbossa!" Will marched through Jack, and toward the man he named, who had drawn his sword as well and was smiling, evilly.

_No, Will, he's a master_, Jack pleaded silently. _Don't do it. You can't win this fight._

"You've gone back on your word," Will spat out angrily. "Now we've lost Jack forever. But you're going to join him."

"Come now, you can't blame _me_ for Jack's death. Jack elected to stay behind. He was a fool."

"He was a good man, and we could have saved him, if you'd kept your promise to us and Tia."

"Actually Tia... told me something interesting I thought you should know," Barbossa taunted, crossing a few steps in front of Will. "She said she had a vision. A vision where Jack was chained to that doomed ship."

"Chained?"

"Yes, chained. Shackled to the mast, as a matter of fact. Right after our darling Elizabeth bid him a sweet, sad goodbye. Isn't that odd? Isn't that . . .funny?"

Will seemed to freeze, glancing right and left at the ground, as though he fought to remember what he had blocked out from that fateful day on the _Pearl_.

"Ask her if it's not true," Barbossa said, widening his eyes, his lips pulled back in a sneer, his chin lifted. "Go on, ask her. I dare you. I'm simply _dying_ to know." He laughed cruelly.

Will seemed to fight an inner battle, still holding his sword to Barbossa, looking across the deck to Elizabeth. A fight was taking inching her backward toward them, and she battled the man skillfully. Jack observed that her skill with a sword had surpassed even Will's in a short time. She was bloody dangerous.

She finished the man with a cutting blow to the neck, then spun in anticipation of her next foe. She came to find Will right behind her, still pointing the sword at Barbossa, but fixing his gaze on her with tears in his eyes.

"Did you do it?" he asked quietly, barely audible over the din of the battle.

"Did I..." Elizabeth panted, her breathing unsteady from the exertion. "Did I what?"

"Did you kill Jack?"

Elizabeth stared as though broadsided, her mouth open in partial shock.

Will's face seemed to contort as he touched his fingers to his forehead, gaining control after a moment, then turning back to Elizabeth. "Did you do it? Did you chain him to the _Pearl_ so he couldn't escape?"

Elizabeth, temporarily struck dumb, took a deep, shaking breath. Jack saw her eyes filling with tears.

Will's patience snapped and he dropped his sword hand to his side. In two steps he was right in front of Elizabeth, grasping her shoulders with both hands, looking desperately into her face. He began to shake her as he spoke, his voice growing louder with desperation and rage. "Did you do it? Is that why you kissed him? Did you do it? Did you kill Jack? Did you kill Jack, did you kill Jack, did you? Did you - ?"

"_YES!_" Elizabeth finally cried, the word one long, drawn-out sob. "Yes!" She crumbled helplessly to the deck. "Yes! I killed him, I did it, I..." and she broke off, sobs wracking her body. Will watched her collapse, too numb to act, barely aware of Barbossa behind him.

"So you see, my boy, you can still try to kill me for breaking my word. But not as Jack's murderer. You've got Lady E here, to thank for that."

The metallic twinge of Barbossa's sword rang through the air as he flung it in Will's direction.

"You bastard," Will said and lifted his sword again. They began to fight, but it was clear to Jack that the fight had gone out of Will. He seemed tired, his thrusts a second too late, his blocks too sloppy.

It was the fight of a man who had lost all hope. The fight of a man who just learned he loved a murderer.

_Come on, Will_, Jack urged. _Don't let him win_.

But it was too late. Barbossa knocked the sword from Will's hand with a blow to the wrist. In the space of a heartbeat, he had drawn back and plunged his sword straight into Will's heart.

_No!_ Jack silently cried. _No._ But even as he watched the crimson stain spread across Will's shirt, he recognized the expression on his face. Peaceful. Accepting. Like he wanted to die.

Then everything went black.


	3. The Shadow

Chapter 3: The Shadow

"Jack?"

_Leave me alone. That was horrible._

"Yes, I know. But it hasn't happened yet."

_So what?_

"I can't promise you can change everything, Jack, but if you decide to go back, there's a chance you can change some of it."

_Can I save Will?_

Silence.

_Can I save Will or not? It's not right that he should die. I'd rather stay dead._

"You can try to alter some of those things. You can try keep Elizabeth from becoming Lady E, a vicious pirate who kills without conscience and destroys dozens of ships and hundreds of lives."

_How? By killing her first?_

"No, Jack. By forgiving her."

_Forgiving-!_

"Yes. If I send you back, you'll have to be a different kind of man."

_I'm already a _different_ kind of man._

"I mean, a man who puts the needs of others above his own."

_I'm a pirate._

"You can be a pirate and a good man. Will thought so."

Jack scoffed. _Bein' a good man's what got me here. Never should have gone back to that bloody ship._

"No, Jack, that's not true. You believe what Elizabeth did was cruel. Shameless. Heartless, even, given how you must feel about her. But she wouldn't have had to do it if you'd accepted your fate in the first place. It _was_ you the Kraken was after. You endangered the lives of your friends by remaining with them all that time."

_I never meant to hurt them. But I couldn't face that thing alone._

"And they might have helped you, had you been honest with them. But you let your fear cloud your judgment. You put them all in danger, and Elizabeth knew it. She was desperate."

_Did she hate me?_

Silence.

_If you send me back, what do I do?_

"First, you must find your friends."

_And then?_

"Then, you have to deal with Elizabeth."

_You know, funny thing, but I'm rather afraid of her. Since she killed me in cold blood._

"Her blood wasn't entirely cold. You saw a shadow, then. In her eyes, when she chained you up. A shadow of the woman she'll become without you."

_Lady E._

"Yes."

_How do I stop her?_

"That's up to you, Jack."

_But I'm supposed to forgive her? Not kill her?_

Silence.

"The choice is yours. Only remember this: beneath the shadow, lies a woman in pain. A young woman faced with hard choices. And underneath the cruelty you saw, the sneer as she closed those shackles, she's afraid of you, too."

_Lovely. Sounds like it'll be a nice, happy reunion._

"You can be a good man, Jack Sparrow. Don't let the shadow win."

The voice faded, the last word echoing through his mind. Then it felt as though he were falling, falling, until he slowed gently and hit something soft. It was still dark, but he could move his fingers. Sand, he felt. He was face down, on a beach.


	4. Awakenings

Chapter 4:

The sound of gentle waves, sloshing in and out, brought Jack slowly back to consciousness. He listened to the rhythmic sound for a few minutes, breathing slowly along with the waves. After a few moments he became aware of water, warm water, touching his toes. He opened his eyes, and then immediately shut them, because the brightness seared his retinas and sent pain shooting through his head. He felt like he had the mother of all hangovers. Had he been drinking _that_ much rum lately? He tried to remember when he had last had anything to drink, and couldn't. So what was it that left him feeling so, well... washed up?

Oh, that's right. He died.

_But I haven't _really_ died_, he thought. _I've just washed up on this beach, and had the mother of all dreams... nightmares. _

He opened his eyes again, slowly, and turned his face away from the sun. It was hot, very hot, and his mouth felt like it was filled with cotton. He rose slowly onto his knees. Then he remembered.

The _Pearl_ was gone.

Which meant the Kraken was real, and everything else. He groaned, shaking his head. Finally he turned and sat, cross-legged. He had no boots, no sword, no pistol. He looked up the beach one way, and down the other. Suddenly he recognized it. It was the island where Davey Jones had buried his... locker.

"Not even a pistol, this time?" he muttered, as he struggled to his feet. "Don't know if I was talking to God or the devil." He shaded his eyes, peering down the empty stretch of beach, then dropped his hand to his side, and muttered, "If it were God, he'd have given me a boat."

He wandered down the beach for almost an hour, making the circuit of the island, looking for anything he could use to escape. Suddenly he saw a figure in the distance.

"Hey!" He broke into a run, waving his arms broadly. "Hey! HEY!"

The figure did not move, but waited. As he got closed, he saw it was a woman, with skin the color of cocoa and a bright yellow dress. She waited for Jack, standing quietly on the beach.

"Hello, love," he said, out of breath, "whoever you are, tell me you came on a boat. And it's still here."

"I did." He voice was lilting with a Jamaican accent.

"Lovely. Where is it?"

"Oveh here," she gestured. "Tia Dalma sent me to fin' you, Captane Jack Spar-row. She say, she _saw_ you."

From Tia, Jack learned the destination of his companions, who had departed two days before. Barbossa, it seemed, had fooled her, which required some powerful magic, he was sure. They sat at her table, the evening noises of insects and frogs outside on the river. A candle burned between them, and Tia's eyes were dark and full of sadness.

"When I foun' him he was weak, so weak from de ocean and de sand. He tol' me that when he died, from your pistol, Jack Sparrow, he came face to face wi' de headen gods demselves."

Jack sat in her hut, huddled over a cup of tea (with a splash of rum). "In Isla de Muerta?"

"Yis. An' dey restored 'im, wi' de promise dat he would destroy de gold an' treasure, so no wan would ever be tempted to disturb dem again. I help him until 'e was well. Dis was a long time."

"But?"

"But I don' truss 'im, Jack Spar-row. De headen gods be dangerous. An' dere's someting dey always wannt for deir troubles."

He looked at her. "Let me guess. Blood."

"Yis."

"He's going to kill them?"

"I didin know, 'til I saw it wid me own eyes. Een a vision. He promised to take your friends to de place where he had come from. From the gateway to de underworld where de gods had sent him. Dat's where dey went searchin' for you. But he will betray dem, soon. He will go to make his sacrifice to de headen gods."

"Whose blood do they want?"

Tia looked at him, her eyes black with portent. "All de blood of de virgin. Dis was de price of raisin' him from de dead."

"The virgin?"

Tia lowered her chin and looked at him dead in the eye, meaningfully.

Jack leaned his head back, looking at her from the corner of his eye, comprehension dawning. "Elizabeth!"

"Go after dem, Jack Sparrow. You muss stop eem." Tia rose, then, and went to a leather pouch danging from the roof of the hut. "I wannt to give you someting."

"This isn't going to be another jar of dirt, is it?"

"No." She returned to the table, and held out what looked like a crude, heathen knife. The blade was bone, the roughly chipped blade having an almost scaly texture. The handle was both carved and painted, and depicted something green and lizard-like, with a rainbow of feathers around his neck. "De headen gods may be angray wid you. Eef dey come to you, you muss use dat." She nodded at the knife.

"Who's this?" Jack said, running his thumb over the carved image.

"Dat is Quetzalcoatl. De feattered serpent. Take it wid you. Dey may not like dat you interfere wid deir virgin sacrifice."

"No, I imagine they won't." He wrapped his fingers around the handle, which only occupied half his palm. "Not a very _large_ knife," he muttered with a pout.

"Don' worray about de size of de weapon. Onlay how you use eet."

"Of course, Tia darling," he said, flashing a sudden, lopsided grin.

"Make haste. You may yet be able to save 'er."

"And Will," he murmured, half to himself.

"Sor-ray?"

"Nothing, nothing. Now, I'll need your advice on where I might borrow..." He leaned forward again, folding his hands before him. "...a _ship_."

"You wannt a ship? I will fin' you a ship, Jack Sparrow." Leaning over her tiny bones and stones, she smiled at Jack, exposing her rows of even, blue-black teeth. Then she looked down, and lifted one of them. "Dere is a ship, not well guarded. She is inna port."

"Which port, and how quickly can I get there?"

"She is in Porto Sant'An-na. Not far."

He cringed. "Oh, lovely. I hate that bloody place..."

"She is dere, waitin' for you. You can steal her widout harmin' anywann. Much."

"Borrow. Borrow without permission. How will I know this ship, when I see it?"

"You muss know her name. She is de _Queen Elizabett_."

"The _Queen Elizabeth_? That's interesting." He stroked his beard thoughtfully.

"You muss go, Jack Spar-row. Dere is no time to lose. We will 'elp you to Porto Sant'An-na. After dat, you muss catch dem before Barbossa knows you are dere."

At his wide-eyed look, she reached across the table to pat his hand, and added, "You can do eet, Jack Spar-row. You muss do eet. Dey all went wid him to look for you, at de penalty of deir own lives. Even de girl. De one who betrayed you."

Jack's eyes widened even more, and he drew back, scanning Tia's face from top to bottom. "You know? About that?"

"Yis. I saw eet."

He cleared his throat and glanced around the hut, even though they were alone, and leaned forward conspiratorially. "Jus' between you an' me, Tia, what do you think I ought to do? About that?"

Tia shook her head slowly, looking down at her bones and stones. "Only you can decide dat, Jack Spar-row. De girl was sorray very soon. She cry. But she did eet. She did eet and didin look back."

Jack closed his eyes for a moment, and he was back on the _Pearl_, Elizabeth's soft lips on his – god, she was sweet – and she yanked the shackles closed and looked up at him. That look... he shuddered to see the cruelty there, the unnecessary force as she yanked the chain tight. Then she was against his mouth again, with a pleading whisper..._It's after you, not the ship, not us... it's the only way, can't you see? _ She parted her lips again, almost kissing him, and he leaned in hoping for a taste, just one last taste... but then she drew back, cruel as before.

_I'm not sorry_... a pretty statement, but who was she trying to convince, Jack or herself?

"An' she lie. She lie to the bwuoy."

His eyes flew open. "Which boy? The whelp?"

"Will-yam Tur-nah. De one who loves her."

"Naturally."

"She tol' heem dat you stay behind to save dem. She made you a her-oh." Tia smiled again. "Which is good, onlay eef you stay dead."

"Did he believe her?"

"Yis. But he saw someting, someting he doesen wannt to remember."

"Right. Well, I don't blame him, I'd prefer not to remember it myself." He stood, nearly knocking his head on a giant jar of eyes suspended from the ceiling. "Well, Tia, it's been lovely, as always. Now, about that ship."

By dawn of the next day he was on his way. On his way to either kill, or forgive, Elizabeth.

If Barbossa didn't kill her first.

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_A/N: This fic is also published in a previous version on due to very mature content. This will become evident in later chapters. I will post the latest revised chapters here, if there's demand for more of the story! Leave me a review if you'll be back for more. Lady Pirate, a.k.a. PirateMistress_


	5. Land Ways and Sea Ways

Chapter 5: Land Ways and Sea Ways

It was midafternoon when he first sighted Barbossa's ship in his telescope from the _Queen Elizabeth_. They were heading for a harbor by Isla de Muerta. Tia had been right. Barbossa was about to betray them.

The Isla was not the same. It had sunk into the ocean some and developed new passageways and small hills and valleys, the formation of which Jack did not entire attribute to natural causes. He and his only crewman – a Haitian names Francois – unfurled all sails to try to reach them. Jack prayed they would catch the wind.

Trying not to be seen, they dropped anchor behind a cliff wall, not far around from where Barbossa's ship had sailed. They were making reading the longboat when there was the sound of an explosion. In the distance.

"_Bugger!_"

_The mutiny_, Jack thought. _It's happened already. Will and the others are fighting back_. Instructing Francois to guard the ship as best he could, he armed himself with pistol and sword, got in the boat and rowed.

He rowed as if the Kraken itself were after him.

As he approached he heard the screams of men and the sounds of mayhem, swords and crashes and the splintering of wood. He rowed faster. _Save Will, save Lizzy. Save Lizzy, save Will._ He finally reached the ship and tied up the longboat, clambering up a rope to peer, anxiously, over the deck. He heard the sharp twangs of swords, and his eyes were drawn to a flash of tawny hair and a maroon vest with billowing white sleeves.

_Elizabeth_.

She sword-fought now with one hand on her hip, like the finest of fencers, before leaning in to punch her attacker with the other hand. When her man fell she drew back her foot and kicked him across the face, hard, the effort eliciting a high-pitched grunt from her. The man's head whipped around at an unnatural angle, and he was totally still. She glanced down at the man whose neck she'd snapped, her eyes wildly confirming that he was dead. Then she turned to the next man.

She was beautiful. And deadly.

It seemed that Barbossa had a crew of his own, and there were about six of them, against the companions Jack recognized: Cotton, Ragetti, Pintel, Gibbs. Will. And Elizabeth. Barbossa stood, observing at all, from near the helm. No one had yet broken through to get to him (the better for _them_, Jack thought) although Will was about to take a man down who barred his way.

Jack waited for the opportune moment to enter the fray.

Just then Elizabeth backed a man up against the rail, only five feet from where Jack hung, hidden. Her sword was digging into his throat. His sword clattered to the ground.

"I recognize you from the _Pearl_," she said, staring into his face. "When it was cursed. You surrendered to the Navy, did you not?"

"Aye," he choked out, barely able to form words. A trickle of blood emerged from his throat, where she thrust the point of her sword. Elizabeth seemed transfixed by it, watching it slide down his neck and into his filthy shirt.

"Are you afraid to die?" she asked in a quiet voice, almost a whisper, leaning ever closer to the man's face.

_Watch out, lad_, Jack thought, almost ready to intervene. But a sick curiosity compelled him to watch.

"Y-yes," the crewman stammered.

"Right then. I'll make sure you're unconscious for it." And with that, she drew back and punched him in the face, so hard Jack heard what he hoped wasn't the cracking of bone, and the man toppled overboard with a splash.

Jack watched as she braced her hands on the rail for a moment, breathing heavily. She lifted her hat and smoothed her hair. Then she turned back to the fight.

"Barbossa!" Will called, running toward the man he named, who had drawn his sword as well and was smiling, evilly.

_Oh, bugger,_ Jack thought _This already?_ He heaved himself up and threw his legs onto the deck. No one paid him the least attention, however, for everyone was engaged in a battle.

He watched the events unfold until he saw Will looking at the ground, looking distraught. Jack's heart turned to stone in his chest. His legs felt leaden. He knew what came next.

"Ask her if it's not true," Barbossa said, widening his eyes, his lips pulled back in a sneer, his chin lifted. "Go on, ask her. I dare you. I'm simply _dying_ to know." He laughed cruelly.

Jack watched as Will shook the confession out of Elizabeth, just as he'd seen in the vision. And Will watched her collapse, too numb to act, not aware of approaching Barbossa behind him.

"So you see, my boy, you can still try to kill me for breaking my word. But not for murdering Jack. You've got Lady E here, to thank for that."

"Let's not be hasty, shall we? Before somebody gets thanked for murdering me, I have to be dead."

Three pairs of eyes fell on Jack, who had drawn his sword and stepped out, at once: Will's brown, worried ones; Barbosa's cold, gray ones; Elizabeth's sherry-colored, tear-filled ones.

And Will: "Jack? How did you...?"

But Jack was looking, foremost, at Elizabeth, who had put a hand behind her and struggled ungraciously to her feet. Her eyes were wild, wilder than he'd ever seen them. Her mouth was dropped open in a shocked pout, and fresh tears welled, emerged, and rolled down her smudged cheeks. Jack tore his gaze away when he heard a noise from Barbossa, who had whirled on Jack with an angry growl.

"Why don't you stay dead, Jack?"

"Why don't _you_?" Jack answered, ducking a blow, and then met Barbossa's sword with his. They moved forward and back a few paces, matching each other move for move. But Jack knew it wouldn't last long. "Will, raise your sword. We can outnumber him now."

"Marley!" Barbossa yelled to his crew. "Finletter! Dobbs!"

But no one answered. Because they were all dead. Will looked around in amazement to find only Gibbs, Cotton, and Pintel standing. "Where's Ragetti?"

"'e's okay, e's chasin' 'is eye down the other end," Pintel said, gesturing with his sword.

"Six to one, mate," Jack said ominously, with raised chin and narrowed eyes, looking at Barbossa down the length of his sword.

"If I surrender, will you leave me alive?" Barbossa asked Jack, his tone still brash and arrogant, eyes flashing.

"Don't think I can do that, since you're planning on sacrificing Lizzy to Quetzalcotal. Or whoever."

"Then kill me straight. If I don't bring the blood by sunset, the gods will undo what they did and I go back... to Hell. This way I have a head start." Barbossa grinned madly.

"On your knees, then, friend." Jack commanded, and Barbossa obeyed.

Jack walked around him in a slow circle, never taking his eyes off the man. He stopped in front of Elizabeth, and then turned around to face her.

"Why don't we let Elizabeth do the honors," Jack said suddenly, leaning in toward her face. She stared up at him, her expression flickering between disbelief, confusion, and finally, resignation. Her eyes hardened as they took in his features.

"Fine," she said evenly, and approached Barbossa, sidestepping Jack.

She met Barbossa's eyes, and drew her sword again, raising the tip of it to his heart.

Jack was suddenly behind her, too close, bending to warm her ear with his breath. "Don't you want to cut his throat?"

She jerked away, looking at Jack with more surprise in her eyes. She did want to, he saw. But perhaps not in front of an audience.

"N-no," she whispered, and looked back at Barbossa, who regarded her with wild gray eyes.

She had raised her sword to his breast again when Jack again interrupted, practically embracing her from behind. He set his chin on her shoulder, his mouth inches from her ear. "Aren't you going to say goodbye properly, love?"

"What do you mean?" she said, an impatient whisper.

"With a kiss. After all, that's your..." Jack lightly breathed on her neck, from her ear, halfway down and back. "..specialty."

Barbossa was the only one close enough to hear, and he threw back his head and roared with mad laughter. Elizabeth, realizing Jack meant the entire time to humiliate her to the fullest, drew back her arm furiously, and with a battle cry, thrust her sword deep in Barbossa's chest, twisting as she drove. His laughs became gasps, the gasps became silent heaves, but the smile stayed fixed on his face. He died with his mouth open, lying sideways on the deck.


	6. The Brig

Chapter 6: The Brig

"Francois, you are hereby relieved as first mate. Gibbs will replace you."

"Aye-aye."

"Gibbs?"

"Aye, Cap'n."

"Set sail for Port Royal."

"Aye-aye, Jack."

Jack turned to give everyone else a hand up from the longboats onto the _Queen Elizabeth_. First, Will, who shook his hand warmly, as he passed. Then, Elizabeth. Still smiting from Barbossa, she set her jaw in a hard line and would not meet his eyes, as he hauled her on board. After the others had boarded, they raised the longboat.

"Will, I need a word with you." Jack sauntered slowly in his direction. He lowered his voice. "About Elizabeth."

Will's jaw tightened, and a muscle jumped in his cheek. "Do what you want with her."

Jack leaned back, a bit surprised. "Still sore, are we?"

Will could not meet his eyes, and instead stared off into the sea. "She lied. I need some time to... to come to terms."

"I was thinking, a night or two in the brig, might work nicely." His eyes danced as he uttered the last word.

"You'll not harm her?"

"Physically? Mentally? Emotionally?" He lowered his voice dramatically on the last word, making a pouting face.

"Physically." Will was not in a joking mood.

Jack crossed his fingers behind his back. "'Course not."

"And you'll release her in two days?"

"Absolutely." Whether he killed her or forgave her, it wouldn't take long.

Jack heard the sound of Will's back teeth, grinding together. "Fine." Will turned and walked toward the opposite end of the deck.

"Francois!"

"_Oui_?"

"Escort Lady E – oops, Miss Swann – to the brig."

"Aye, Cap'n."

"What?" Elizabeth cried, anger flashing in her eyes. "What for?"

The rest of the crew looked up from their duties to watch this scene, having been anticipating something unpleasant. Jack paused in the center of the upper deck, then turned and scanned the others on both sides of him. "Did I miss something, while temporarily deceased, or isn't the brig still where we put people who _try to kill us_?" The bite in his words swept the deck like a cold wave.

Every man returned immediately to his work. There was scrubbing, pulling, hoisting, with alacrity. Except for Francois, who approached Elizabeth with a somber look on his face. She reached for her sword, but it was gone. She turned her eyes back up, perplexed.

"Looking for this?" Jack dangled her sword from his fingertips, rolling it back and forth. Back and forth. "I nicked it while you were busy not looking at me, when I handed you up from the boat."

He strode down the deck stairs. "Lock her inside and guard her from a safe distance. And don't fall asleep, or you might never wake up," he told Francois.

"_Oui_. Let's go, Miss," he said to Elizabeth, taking her elbow.

"Don't touch me. Honestly. You can't really mean to – " She looked around the deck. "Will! Gibbs!" Both glanced at her, but went back to their activities. "Will! Do you see this? Are you going to help me? Are you daft? _Will_?"

"Your luck's run out, Lizzy," Jack said as she passed, guided by Francois to the deck stairs.

Jack watched the sunset from the helm. They were on course, the weather looked beautiful, and they'd just had a rousing chorus of "A Pirate's Life for Me". He felt better than he had in ages.

Just then he spotted something on the deck rail of interest. "Ragetti!"

"Aye?"

"Go in the smithy-box, and find me something pinchy." He made a pinching motion with the fingers of his right hand. "And a jar."

"Aye, Cap'n."

When the items had been procured, and his task completed, Jack smiled. It was time for a trip to the brig.

A few moments later, Jack descended the last of the steps, observing Francois, who had lit a lantern and sat in a chair, facing Elizabeth, fixing his eyes on her calmly. _What an excellent crewman_, Jack thought. Elizabeth's back was to him, as she was sat on the floor, her arms wrapped around her knees, looking for all the world like a poor, orphaned waif.

Jack almost felt sorry for her.

Almost. She didn't see what he set down by the cell door, the jar and the metal tongs.

"Unlock it, if you please," he asked.

"_Oui."_ The door was unlocked. Jack paused at the entrance.

"Leave us."

Francois left, handing the keys to Jack, and with a nod, climbed the stairs.

They were completely alone. Jack sidled inside the cell. Elizabeth turned around to look up at him, to study him in the lantern light.

"You're looking awfully well," Elizabeth commented from her seat next to the grate. "For a dead man."

Jack smiled, the same smile had aboard the _Pearl_, an all-purpose smirk to cover whatever might be raging inside. He reached down and roughly hauled her to her feet, gripping her elbow, pulling her against him. He peered into her eyes, noting a red flush on the tops of her cheeks. Anger?

"And you're looking remarkably well, too." He paused, running his eyes down her figure. "For a murderer." He hauled her tighter against him, daring her to cry out, to beg mercy, to say she was glad to see him or that she was sorry. Nothing. He became aware of the curve of her breast through her shirt and vest, the warmth of her belly. He leaned closer. "Feels good... doesn't it?"

He was inwardly thrilled to see her flush deeper scarlet, and attempt to pull her elbow away, sharply.

"What?" she spat.

"Murdering. Killing Barbossa. It felt good. That's why you like it."

She succeeded in whipping her elbow away. "I do not _like it_, as you keep insinuating."

"Don't you, Lady E?"

"Stop calling me that. Barbossa's a perverted bastard, and I really don't like that name."

"Why not?" Jack laid his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him completely. "It sounds like a fearsome pirate who succeeds in terrorizing the innocent." He waggled his fingers at her in a spooky gesture. "Murderin' by the shipload. Killing without hesitation, delighting in the moment of... conquest." On the final word he leaned in close, toward her mouth, and she turned her face away as she searched for a response.

"I haven't harmed anyone _innocent_, Jack." She stared up at him boldly. The implication was clear.

"Not yet, love. But you will. Trust me. You're just... working up to't."

"Oh, am I really?" Her tone was haughty.

"By that logic, then, I _deserved_ death?" He regarded her through lowered eyelids.

"Jack," she sighed, taking a tiny step backward, to put distance between them. "You're still _alive_."

"Disappointed, love?" he said, with a laugh in his voice that did not quite reach his eyes. "That's right, you're not sorry. That's what you said."

She did not answer, folding her arms in front of her and walking to one corner of the cell. She intended to ignore him. But he had ways around that. He fetched the jar and tongs and walked over to her as she purposefully faced the corner, away from him.

"Elizabeth, darling... do you know what this is?" He held the jar in front of her face, and he was immensely pleased to see the color drain completely from her face. She turned back to him, taking a tiny step that brought her against the wall. He had never seen her quite so white. Not even when he'd pulled her out of the water in Port Royal, nearly drowned.

Elizabeth couldn't help her reaction. Since she was a little girl, she had abhorred insects of all kinds, especially the strange tropical ones that she'd never seen in England. Particularly... _those_.

"It's a spider," she said, her voice a throaty whisper.

"Not jus' _any_ spider, Lizzy. She's got a red hourglass. That makes her a black widow." His last two words seemed to echo in the cell, and Elizabeth felt as though her blood were turning to ice.

He uncorked the jar.


	7. The Black Widow

Chapter 7: The Black Widow

"Don't," pleaded Elizabeth, her eyes on the writhing creature inside. "Please, don't."

He looked at her in mock surprise. "You don't like her? I thought you two would get along _famously_."

"Why would you think that?" Elizabeth asked, taking the bait.

"Because, love... you two are the same species." He took the tongs and plucked the spider out, which moved its legs helplessly. Elizabeth could not focus on his words, as she flattened herself against the wall.

"Look. She's got her black and her red hourglass, and you've got..." He looked up and down her maroon outfit, still made for a man, which clung to her curves rather well, he thought. "...something like that."

"Please, take it away." She could barely draw breath, and her voice had become almost inaudible.

"But you're so alike. Want to know why? Although I'm told it's more the exception than the rule, the black widow got that name because she – like you – " He held the tongs in his right hand, moving to slide over against Elizabeth's warm body, pinning her to the wall. "-is known to murder her mate during the act of copulation."

When his words finally penetrated the haze of fear that had descended upon Elizabeth, she turned her eyes from the spider, still wiggling at the end of the tongs, to Jack's eyes, which blazed with something she'd never seen in them before. _Had they been... copulating? _She felt a twinge in her belly that she attributed to arachnophobia, and continued to meet Jack's eyes, feeling her cheeks grow warm again. Her lips parted, and hot breath escaped. She couldn't keep looking in those searing, rum-warmed eyes that seemed to look right through her. Instead, her gaze fell to his mouth. She watched as it descended, very, very slowly, toward hers. Her eyes closed, and her hand slipped around his waist. When his warm, dry lips first brushed hers, a fine tremor coursed through her limbs. _Revulsion_, she told herself. _He disgusts me_.

Jack flicked his eyelids open for a moment when he felt that tremor, and quickly glanced over her face, noting that her eyes were closed and she was straining to get closer to his lips, which he'd drawn away after that first brush. Now he gave them to her again, fitting his lips between hers and sliding gently, back and forth, gently probing with his tongue against her lips until she parted them for him and he slid inside, sweeping her mouth hungrily.

Like a barrel of gunpowder lit with a match, desire exploded. Instantly she arched her body toward him, and he reached his left hand down to lift her higher against the wall, her legs wrapping naturally around his waist, and then he was pressing against her, there, right in the secret place between her thighs. She was already burning hot, and he ground himself into her, hard, right in the center; a concrete premonition, a mimicked promise of the sexual act that seemed suddenly, overwhelmingly inevitable to them both.

Somewhere upriver, Tia Dalma held her hand over a candle flame while chanting, which unexpectedly leapt up and burned her palm.

The _Queen Elizabeth_ met with an unusually large wave, and pitched, sending everyone scrambling for balance.

Above stairs, Will, a few sips into a bottle of rum, felt a wave of nausea overcome him.

Ragetti and Pintel, playing cards on the crew deck, began to fan themselves. "Mercy me, is it twelve times 'otter in 'ere all of a sudden?"

Davey Jones, amidst a passionate crescendo on his pipe organ, hit a horribly wrong note and stopped dead.

Commodore James Norrington, having recently been re-issued his red Army uniform, tripped over a step and fell, sprawling, in the mud.

Weatherby Swann, Elizabeth's father, mysteriously dropped his tea all over a pile of important documents in Port Royal.

_Clink_. A tiny sound parted the fog in Jack's mind. A sound he knew well... the sound of the safety being taken off his pistol. He pulled his mouth reluctantly away from Elizabeth's, satisfied to see her lids were drowsy and heavy and her cheeks hot, but when she opened her eyes, he saw passion fading, giving way to something else.

The shadow.

It was then that he felt the muzzle of the pistol pressed snugly under his left arm.

He smiled, a real smile, down into her face, which was flickering between light and darkness, between desire and destruction. He lifted his head away, deliberately turning to look at his right hand, which still held the struggling black widow in the tongs.

Right above her creamy, white neck.

"All I have to do is let go," he said, his voice thick with desire, yet ominous with warning.

"All I have to do is pull the trigger," Elizabeth said defiantly, unwrapping her legs from around him and setting her feet on the floor. Her chin was raised, her eyes black and glittering.

"'S not loaded."

"We'll see about that," she said calmly, and squeezed.

_Click_.

The hammer struck an empty chamber, and Elizabeth let her hand fall to the side, sighing deeply with frustration. The anger then flashed back into her eyes, and she shoved the pistol roughly into his belt. "Not very surprising that your _pistol_ isn't loaded," she said between clenched teeth, cinching his belt strap unnecessarily tight with a single, brutal yank. She glanced up to see that Jack still held the black widow, dangling it closer and closer. Her whole body tensed.

"Elizabeth, you wound me," he said, his tone dark and mocking.

He released it.

Her blood-curdling scream pierced the night, and Francois appeared, hurrying down the steps. "Everything all right, captain?"

"Jus' lovely, thank you," Jack said over his shoulder. He lifted his boot and crushed the spider where it had fallen on the floor. He leaned over to where she stood, still and white, shaking, against the wall.

"You lose, Lady E."

He turned and strode from the brig, locking the door behind him.


	8. The Voice and the Visitor

Chapter 8: The Voice and the Visitor

Captain Jack Sparrow lay snug in his bunk, sleeping peacefully. Almost.

"Jack Sparrow." A whispered echo. A pebble in a sea of darkness. Ripples spreading outward, stroking his consciousness.

It was the Voice. Jack found himself unable to move, afloat in that infinite black sea.

_Isn't bad enough you torture a man when he's dead, you've got to bother him while he's sleeping, too?_

"There are things of which I need to remind you."

_Let me guess. I'm supposed to be a better man. Better pirate... man. Good man, pirate._

"Yes." The word was strong, swimming its way into Jack's dormant brain.

_I didn't hurt her, just scared her a little_.

"You were tempted by carnal desires."

_Funny, you don't sound like a woman, but any kind of male would know that's the permanent condition of a man._

"That was not part of our agreement. She is still young and pure."

_And evil incarnate, according to you_.

"You have seen it for yourself, Jack. And on that, you must act. But do not despoil her for your own perverse pleasure."

_You holy types are really picky. Can't a man have any fun while he's alive, or has he got to die for it?_

"Not while time's running out, Jack."

_Time's running out?_ Confusion seemed to suspend him in the darkness. _What time?_

"The time you have to act. Otherwise, it will be too late."

_Too late for what?_

"To destroy Lady E before she takes hold of Elizabeth. The longer you wait to decide, the more dangerous she becomes. You must decide soon."

_Decide... to elicit her deepest apologies, or administer justice myself?_

"Yes." The _s_ swirled in the peaks and valleys of Jack's ear, almost serpentine in its caress.

_How much time have I got_?

"Until dawn tomorrow. By the time the sun rises fully above the horizon, you must act."

_Thought only heathen gods were this pushy about timing. Is that you, Quetzalcoatl?_ Jack teased.

Silence. Some deities can't take a joke, Jack mused. _Fine, dawn tomorrow, or else what?_

"Or else it will be too late, Jack. Too late for her, and you, and all the others you saw."

The Voice faded, slipping away like a boat through the mist. Jack rolled over in his sleep, suddenly fitful and troubled.

Elizabeth did not believe, at first, that Jack would leave her confined to the brig for the duration of the voyage, but began to suspect it after she slept on the cold, damp floor and awakened to find nothing had changed. Francois, who would not speak to Elizabeth but stared at her unrelentingly, was relieved by Pintel, whom Jack had selected on purpose, she was sure. Her dislike of the balding man nearly oozed from her pores, she having never forgotten her capture at the man's hands back in Port Royal. Jack knew her well. _Too_ well.

"'ello, poppet," he said with a leer, and Elizabeth inwardly shuddered, but outwardly only rolled her eyes. Then she heard another set of footsteps on the stairs, lighter ones. She climbed unsteadily to her feet.

"Will?"

Will appeared, holding a lantern up near his face that illuminated tense features. His eyes were dark with worry, and he approached the grate slowly, without saying anything, looking at her so piercingly she was sure he could see into her very soul.

"Will, I hope you've come to end this. Do you see how I'm being treated? I've been in here _all night_."

"You're lucky that's all that's happened, under the circumstances." Will's head tilted, and she realized she'd never seen him look so sad. She sighed deeply.

"I know Jack is angry with me."

"I was angry, too." Will paused, his eyes moving back and forth as though reading a letter in the back of his mind. "What you did... I still can't believe it."

She moved up to the bars, softening, wanting to pull Will over to her side. The lantern light flickered, and the ship groaned, deep in the hold.

"I did it for you, Will. For you and all of us. It was the only way."

"Betraying a friend is never the _only_ way. It's not the right way."

"Oh, _please_. Jack sold us out ten times over. You can't say he's not a coward."

Will said nothing. "Do you regret it?"

"Do you wish I hadn't, and the Kraken had swallowed us all? What then? What were _you_ going to do about it?"

"I would have done something. Something else."

"Well, of course you'd have done something _else_, doing what I did clearly would have been ineffective executed by _you_. Don't think you can chain up Jack while kissing him, although I'd like to see you try."

He ignored her sarcastic tone. "It was cruel."

"_Life_ is cruel. He gave you over to Davey Jones, didn't he? So quick to forget his transgressions, aren't you? Well, I won't. He's a coward, and it was high time he met his match."

"You?" Will prompted softly, something sad and slightly bitter in the gently spoken word.

"_Me?_ The Kraken, of course." She paused, incredulous. "How'd he get out of there, anyway?"

"You ought to ask him yourself. When you ask his forgiveness."

At this Elizabeth actually laughed. But it was not a pretty sound. "His _forgiveness_? Do you know what he's done to me?"

Will stiffened. "Has he hurt you? Hit you, harmed you?"

She searched for words, wishing she could lie. But not to Will. She glanced down. "Not exactly, but he –"

"Then he's keeping his word." Will's mouth set in a hard line, and he seemed to wrestle inwardly. He took a deep breath and let it out, slowly, his eyes never leaving Elizabeth's face. "I still love you, you know. I'll always love you. But Jack... this is between the two of you. You should explain yourself and ask him to forgive you. That, I can't do. And I'll not be a go-between." He backed away with a sideways glance at Pintel, who grinned toothlessly, before taking his last look at Elizabeth. "Good day, my love. The sooner you make amends, the sooner you can be in my arms again." At this he smiled a sweet, sad smile and turned to climb up the steps.

Elizabeth stared after him, his rapidly fading lantern a fleeing beacon of hope in the burgeoning darkness.

The despair was growing, with every roll of the ship, and peal of laughter from the decks above. Hours passed, and she heard the crew moving about for their shifts and meals. She was sent hardtack bread and rancid grog, which she could barely keep down. Scuttling sounds in the corner of her cell that Elizabeth knew were the scratchings of rats sent her leaping up from the floor, interrupting her reverie and her haphazard plans for escape.

Secretly she fantasized that Will would return, brandishing a sword, and take her out by force. But the practical part of her knew that Will would not go against Jack in this case, and besides, where would they go? They were, after all, on a ship. It irritated her that Will would not immediately see _her_ side, understand how she'd tried to protect them, appreciate her strength in taking action instead of letting them all die. But Will could be soft-hearted, engaging in great acts of love and self-sacrifice, all the while being somewhat of a fool. And she failed to totally comprehend his unwavering loyalty to Jack, despite all their misadventures... did that man have some magic sway with _everyone_? She half-expected the crew to fall down in worship when he appeared, as though he were some long-sought pagan god. She snorted in disbelief. But still she hoped.

When she heard footfalls on the steps, her fingers tightened on the iron grille, and she pressed her head forward as far as possible to afford her a view of who it was. _Will. He's come to save me._

Then the light fell on her visitor, his black moustache and beard partially masking his expression, his pistol and sword swinging, his eyes pools of angry, muddy water in the dim light.

Not Will. Jack.


	9. The Challenge

Chapter 9: The Challenge

_Jack_.

Her stomach lurched, but she gritted her teeth and stood up straight, not wanting him to know how miserable she was and how eagerly she'd been anticipating conversation with someone, anyone, besides Pintel.

Jack looked her up and down, noting the dirt on her sleeves and vest and the dark circles under her pretty eyes. Mentally he noted that not even the filth of the brig could truly mar her appearance, as the elegant silhouette of her face was cast on the wall by the lantern light, and he longed to trace its outline with his fingers.

"Back for more humiliation?" Elizabeth said, forcing the words through her bitterly clenched front teeth. "Haven't had your fill of torture? What'll it be tonight, chains? Water torture? Your singing voice, perhaps?"

"All lovely ideas, true enough." He tapped Pintel on the shoulder and gestured him upstairs. Elizabeth felt her stomach sink an inch. Left alone with him, she felt more exposed than ever. Jack sat on the stool vacated by Pintel, spreading his knees apart and resting his elbows on them, placing his chin on his hands and fixing his eyes on Elizabeth's face. "I'm flattered you haven't forgotten las' night, love, it was special for me, too."

In answer she reddened, and Jack swore he could hear her back teeth grinding together. He smiled with lips closed, then continued. "What was it that did it for you, Lizzy? Itsy-bitsy spider? Or the nice, big _pistol_?" he said, lowering the pitch of his voice on the last word to make sure his meaning was clear.

She did not answer. As the knashing of her teeth went on, he lowered his hands to his knees and leaned forward to speak again. "I'm goin' to give you one - an' only one - chance to explain what you've done. That chance is right here, right at this moment, and it won't come again, savvy?" The deep, even tone of his whisper conveyed his deadly seriousness.

"What _I've_ done?" Elizabeth scoffed. "What _I've_ done? You! You would have sacrificed us all, to save your own sorry hide."

"Come now, not knowing my hide intimately well, hardly seems fair to insult it. But we could always rectify – "

"Go ahead and laugh. But it's true – you endangered all of us." Her eyes were fiery and dancing, or else the lantern light was reflecting the crackling heat he sensed in the tiny space between them.

"Not deliberately. I wouldn't think of't." He spoke the words plainly, honestly.

"Oh, rubbish. Sending Will to the _Flying Dutchman_? Hiding the black mark from everyone? Rowing away in the heart of a battle on your own ship? That's right, Jack. You weren't thinking of anything. Not anything _worth_ doing. So I had to do your thinking for you."

Regret, cold and insidious, began to unfold from his lungs and crawl, icily, up his windpipe, making it hard to speak. He swallowed and forced it down. "You can't trust a pirate to be a hero."

"We _needed_ a hero, Jack. We were dying."

"I came back. I bloody well came back, and you know it. What were you doing when I got there, hmm? Droppin' the gun all over the bleedin' deck, goin' to pieces, jus' like a woman. Never have a woman to do a man's job, I say."

At this rage flashed over her features, and she smacked the grate hard with both palms, sending a rattle through the floor. Jack flinched away from her hurtled words. "Well, I certainly did a woman's job on _you_, didn't I?"

A bitter laugh from the side of Jack's mouth. "Love, that's not a woman's job. But if you're lookin' to finish it up, I can take you up to my cabin and teach you there." He rose and stood directly in front of her. Her jaw was clenched and a muscle in her cheek jumped, as she glared daggers at him. "What d'ya say, Lizzy? Exchange the brig for more pleasant quarters?" In mock seriousness he straightened and lowered his eyelids, raising his chin regally. "I'm not a cruel man, I could be easily _persuaded_ to forgive you. Given the right... reparations."

"Only in your sick, twisted fantasies!" Her voice was raised to an anxious pitch.

He grinned. "Only half as sick as _you_ would know, unless Will's been sneakin' round with you behind my back an' broadening your education."

"You're disgusting, you rude, arrogant... scoundrel!"

At this he grabbed the bars in front of her, and leaned in so suddenly she jumped back a few inches. "Oh, that's it, is it? Blame the big bad pirate, an' act the pure, sweet virgin? I'm bad, you're good, I'm wrong, you're right, forever and ever amen, eh?" He reached for her face with his fingers through the grille and she turned her head aside, avoiding them. "You traitorous _bitch_," he whispered softly, a new pain sending golden sparks from his brown irises that still sought hers relentlessly. "You'll have to square with what you did. Kiss me with your mouth and murder me with your hands. Ought to be washin' 'em day an' night and singin' 'Out, damn spot!' till you can't croak a word."

At this Elizabeth cringed, feeling hot tears well, her abdomen tying itself in knots as she fought to maintain control. "I only left you in harm's way. You're a pirate, Jack, who's killed dozens, hundreds of people?"

"Few as I could manage, truth be told. An' I never killed a friend. An' I never killed a lady. An' I never killed someone who –" He broke off, biting his words in two to stop the stream.

"Someone who what, Jack?" Elizabeth taunted, gaining new strength in her voice, understanding instinctively what he had been about to say. "Someone who... loved you?" The phrase from her lips sounded soft, almost a caress.

The words hung in the air, suspended by the lantern light, shimmering hopefully like morning sunlight on the ocean, but fading as quickly as the western sky. Jack shook his head, very slowly, still meeting her shining eyes. He wondered if she knew, if she _knew_ somehow, deep down, the truth of how he felt about her... how he had felt, before. He found his voice with a quick clearing of his throat. "Someone who... saved my life."

"Marvelous. Congratulations. What of your other crimes? You've the nerve to condemn me, but not the guts to stand and face your fate?"

"You've no gratitude for the man who yanked you out of the ocean? Preserved you from a watery death? Least twice as I can figure, once back in Port Royal, again when I shot that cargo net for you. Another wasted moment and it'd've been too late."

"Gratitude for _that_? Taken with all the other foolish, selfish things you've done? Hardly."

"Then I'll not be doin' that again," he said darkly. "I know what ails you, Lady E, and it's not my foolishness. It's your sad lack of value of human life. Mine. Yours. Saved you? Who cares! Damn Jack to the Kraken? Sure thing!" He raised his voice again. "Same reason you enjoy the kill."

She started back, examining his words, looking for any grains of truth and sifting them for arguments.

He continued, satisfied by her troubled look. "Yes, I can tell that about you. Gets you all wiggly inside, don't it? Just like a good lay. 'Cept, you haven't got that far... yet."

His sharp, deadly words struck her to the core, and she raised the hackles of outrage to defend herself. "You haven't the faintest idea about me, Jack Sparrow. Look at you. You're a coward. Throw a girl in the brig and come down to terrorize her." She leaned in close to the grille again, and lowered her voice menacingly. "Easy for you to yell at me, frighten me, when I'm in here. But give us a sword and a proper fight and you'll find out much I _desire_ a kill."

"Is that a challenge?" His voice was equally low and menacing.

"Aye, a challenge."

Her crisp, British words seemed to echo softly in the small space, and the _Elizabeth_ pitched, groaning mightily, the sound an eerie lament. Jack felt the echo deep within himself, and answered it with a slow, deep breath. The breath of a man about to face his destiny. To forgive or kill... he'd come down here to listen, to give her a chance to say she was sorry. _Another_ chance, since she'd already told him quite plainly, on the _Pearl_, that she wasn't sorry. So that left... the other.

"On what grounds?" he murmured, glancing almost tenderly over her face.

"On the grounds that you're a _coward_, Jack Sparrow." She squared her shoulders. "Cowardice sent you running from Jones, sent you fleeing from the _Pearl_ when she needed you most. Face me in an even match to settle this, or accept that you'll always be a coward, and I was right to shackle you to that pathetic ship and watch as the Kraken swallowed it whole." The acidity in her voice singed Jack's ears, bringing to mind her face, as she closed the shackles tight that fateful day. Her face, the hatred in her face. The hatred of a monster. The evil of Lady E.

Jack tried to shake off the sense of foreboding he felt at facing her at the pointy end of a sword long enough to concentrate on forming words. "Jus' you and me, then. Like it was on the _Pearl_."

"I want my own sword back. That's a special one Will made for me."

"You'll have it. _Francois!_" he bellowed toward the stairs.

"_Oui?_"

"Take Miss Swann up to my cabin and return her effects. Bring her a bit of water to wash, and some of the ladies' clothes we found on board. An hour before dawn she's to be out on deck. Tell no one of this. I'll be at the helm."

"_Oui_."

Jack turned back to her, scanning her face for any sign she'd relent. "Just because you're a woman – I'll not say, 'lady,' for that's not been in evidence – I'll not afford you any special privileges."

"I don't need any." She smiled then, for the first time in more than a day. "See you in a few hours, Jack. I'd say you should make peace with whatever God you like."

"Oh, I've made my peace before," Jack assured her, as he turned away and moved toward the stairs. At the last moment he turned back, casting his eyes over her face and form again, as though committing it to memory. "Make _your_ peace... Lady E."

He ascended the stairs and was gone.

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_A/N: Thanks to all who've been reading and reviewing! Have I gained any new readers with these chapters? And if you're digging it so far, just wait until you see them duel... LadyP_


	10. The Hour Before the Dawn

_Disclaimer: Still don't own the characters. Depictions of violence in next 3 chapters._

Chapter 10: The Hour Before the Dawn

Captain Jack Sparrow waited, his stomach tying itself in knots. He had stood proudly at the helm – at first – but then, unable to stand still, had tied it off and moved to the deck rail and watched the waves, fleeting and mysterious, destroying themselves against the black hull. He stared into the darkness, a dry taste in his mouth, as though it were full of ash.

Under any other circumstances, he'd have drunk enough rum to set him to rights again, but he solemnly acknowledged that any impediment in the upcoming fight might well mean the end of his life. Before his ill-fated dip in the sea depths, he might not have cared, might have been cavalier and all bluster and yo-ho-ho. But not now. Not anymore.

He had painstakingly prepared the deck as though setting a stage. He had sent everyone below without brooking any argument. Lanterns were lit, casting a warm glow that Jack could not feel. The moonlight bathed the deck as well, and shimmered on the water, cool and peaceful and bright. He closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of the ship: the gentle splashing of the water and occasional groaning of the boards. The noise sounded sad, almost like a cry of despair. He was reminded of the eerily beautiful sound of whalesong.

The sounds of the night were mere instruments accompanying the peaks and valleys of his thoughts and the swelling and cresting waves of his emotions as they crashed over him. The music in Jack's mind was magnificent and sad as a funeral dirge played on a pipe organ. It rose and fell gracefully, growing sadder and more mournful with each thought, each memory and desire.

Any moment, Elizabeth would appear, and they would finish this. He sighed, casting his mind out on the water, where it skipped like a stone over memories of her. The feel of her soft, warm body when he'd rescued her in Port Royal, being allowed – for a moment – to cradle her against him. Her laugh, not bitter or prim, but full and hearty, yet feminine, as they'd sung pirate songs at the top of their lungs on that island where Barbossa had left them, and the look in her eyes when they'd collapsed together on the sand. A spark of desire, a hint of true affection. And finally – one last skip before the stone of his thought sank into the miry depths – her lips and warm, wet mouth as she'd kissed him on the _Pearl_... he didn't want to think about that, told himself not to, but he remembered it better than his own name, almost. Other memories invaded, forcing their way into his consciousness... the vision of Lady E plunging her dagger into a man's neck, the hateful look in her eyes that day on the _Pearl_, the hard set of her pretty mouth in the brig after she'd demanded another chance to kill him.

He heard soft footfalls on the deck. He turned to see her emerging from his cabin, where he'd left her alone to prepare.

He raised himself away from the rail, evaluating her from top to toe. She wore a black three-cornered hat over her golden brown hair, which reflected the lamplight in long, shimmering strands. A man's white shirt over a man's breeches, which clung to her hips but then fell in loose folds down to brown, oversized man's boots. It seemed she hadn't taken anything from the women's clothes she'd been offered.

But then she turned toward him, and Jack's mouth twisted into an appreciative grin. She had exchange her tunic vest for a woman's bodice, maroon, laced tightly but not totally closed, as it was not her size. The result was the creamy swell of her breasts emerging from the center of the slightly unbuttoned shirt. He raised his eyes – with some effort – to her face, and observed the light dusting of freckles on her nose and cheeks – an effect of the recent exposure to much sun. It would have made her seem tender and child-like, were it not for the dark brows that shot out boldly from the center of her high, smooth forehead, and the lush, plump, pink lower lip which she had drawn under her top teeth as she scanned the deck for him. She had descended the steps to the deck and did not even hear him approach behind her.

"'ello, poppet," he drawled ominously, in a deliberate imitation of Pintel. She whirled to face him, sword at the ready. He let her watch him move his eyes over her torso, before meeting her eyes. "Lizzy, I'm flattered. Wearing that for me?"

"As a matter of fact, my tunic was quite dirty, and a loose shirt impedes my movements." She met his gaze boldly, raising her chin. "Besides, any distraction on your part only works in my favor."

"True enough, although I wouldn't count on the kissing ploy again – I've already learned that one."

"Have you?" she said with a small, unfriendly smile. Then her tone became brusque and businesslike. "What are the rules of engagement?"

"Already? Thought you'd like to warm up first, have a sip o' rum, talk a bit." At her the cold look on her face, he pouted in mock sadness. "Fine. No foreplay. Fight to the cry of 'mercy,' such mercy to be dispensed at the discretion of the winner, loser not being guaranteed aforesaid mercy, just as the winner is not bound to give it."

"Fine," Elizabeth said, the word too calmly, too simply uttered for such dire circumstances. "Weapons?"

"Swords. Although, I can't promise you my pistol won't come into play." A small wiggle of his chest and shoulders as he spoke was the only indication he was joking. Although Jack was almost _always_ joking.

"Hardly matters, since you won't get a chance to use it." She smiled at the double _entendre_, almost proudly, and her eyes seemed to warm as she reached across her body for her sword, drawing it slowly, deliberately, out of her leather holster, removing the large belt that had been suspended from her right shoulder across her body and tossing it away.

He also had, although he didn't wish her to know it, the tiny knife Tia Dalma had given him, tucked into his boot. A last resort.

And though the promise of the fight to the death did hang over them, heavy and foreboding as a granite storm cloud, Jack felt also the wind on his cheeks, the salt spray in the air, and the familiar warmth in his hands and fingers whenever Elizabeth was near him. All of his senses were sharply attuned to his surroundings, more so than usual. He realized, after a moment of regarding her in front of him, that even though he half expected to die within the hour, he had never felt more alive.

"_En garde,_ Captain Sparrow." She stepped a foot back, lifting her sword and chin at the same moment.

"Call me Jack, won't you, love? Since we're so well-acquainted." He drew his sword in a quick, flashing movement. He smiled at her. _This might actually be fun._

She lunged forward and swung high. He stepped back and dodged low, raising his sword to block, and the _clang_ of metal on metal echoed in the dark night. His sword slid up and off of hers and he brought it around for a low, right thrust. She wheeled and blocked.

He advanced, and she jumped back. With a swift motion that rotated his sword about his head, he struck at her neck. She ducked quickly, but not quickly enough and he caught her black hat with the blow, sending it flying across the deck. She instinctively put a hand to her head, and he seized the opportunity to advance again. This time she barely blocked his lunge by holding her sword straight up and down in front of her face. The blow would have sliced her face clean open. Her eyes widened, and flew to his face as he untangled and withdrew, resetting his stance.

"If you've not the stomach for it, call it off now. We still have an hour before the sun rises – I'm sure I can think of how to spend it." He looked at her down his face, his head tilted back.

Her answer was a whirling, complex advance, with high and low thrusts and one lunge for his midsection. She grunted each time she swung, her hair flying behind her, channeling all her energy into each blow.

"All those nice noises, love... I always wondered what you'd sound like."

She lunged straight for his throat, and he ducked, anticipating a deathblow after his last comment. She caught only his hat on the tip of her sword, and it stuck there when she pulled back her arm.

"I'll have that back," he said, leaping for her with his body. He tackled her and they both tumbled to the deck, landing hard on the wood floor. Her sword fell beside her, with Jack's hat still stuck on it, and he pinned her with his body as he reached for his hat with his left hand. The effort tipped him sideways and she rolled with him, landing on top of his hips in a straddle, her chest pressed against his, her sword still pinned under Jack's body. He reached over his neck with his left arm and plucked his hat off, returning it to his head with a lopsided grin. "Imagined you'd like bein' on top."

She pulled with all her might on the handle of her sword, but the weight of Jack's body on the sword was too great, and she was forced to either remain sealed to him, the heat of his chest nearly searing her skin, or release her grip on the sword. She slid her right knee along the floor and straightened her leg, the close, sliding contact with his leg unnerving her.

"I'm enjoying this more than you know, Lizzy."

"Allow me to cure you of _that_," she said, punctuating her last word with a well-placed knee to his groin, and he arched his back upward with a howl, freeing her sword. She vaulted to her feet and pointed it at him, even as he struggled to stand up, a dark expression molding his features as he spoke.

"That bloody hurt. A dirty trick – though I suppose I should expect that from _you_. After all, you're a pirate." She nicked his neck with her tip as he dove sideways in a roll and faced her again, from a different angle. He touched his fingers to his neck and saw bright red blood on them, the first frisson of fear shooting down into his belly. Elizabeth saw it, too, and her eyes seemed to fixate on the scratch on his neck, the sight inspiring several changes of emotions in her eyes. Jack read them expertly. Surprise. Horror. Fascination.

He lunged with an upward swing for her torso, but she jumped back at the last moment and his sword snagged the bottom few cords of her bodice, slicing them through. The garment spread open a few inches to reveal the white shirt underneath.

"Now why can't it have been the _top_," Jack wondered aloud, even as he took more steps to pursue her. She retreated, still blocking high and low, left and right, her steps shuffling lightly along the deck.

The sky was beginning to lighten, Jack saw, the gray eastern sky framing Elizabeth's face. She looked quite beautiful, he noted as they fought. Almost... angelic.

Their swordplay became like a dance, as he moved right and she left, he forward and she back, he low and she high. Each motion perfectly balanced and answered by the other, each move anticipated perfectly. It continued for several minutes, the speed of their attacks growing, the pace of their feet increasing.

"Elizabeth, can't you say 'mercy' and let's be friendly, shall we? Think of't: you... me... moonlight on the ocean – "

She seemed to anger more at this, and made a sloppy block, resulting in Jack's sword sticking right up her middle, and she threw her torso backward and to the side. There was a ripping noise. He'd cut the remaining cords of her bodice.

"Lovely," he said with a grin, her loose shirt billowing to reveal her shapely curves, the crimson bodice falling to the deck. "See, we can barely keep our clothes on. What say you, let's go back to my cabin and settle this diplomatically."

With a forceful blow she struck at the hand that held his sword, and to his surprise, it flew from his hand and clattered across the deck. With one wild-eyed glance at Elizabeth, who stood poised to strike, he somersaulted for it, scrambling to grab it before she reached him. His hat flew off his head as he rolled head over heels.

He scuttled across the deck like a crab, and just when he had closed his fingers around the hilt, he felt her weight slam into him, as she tackled him from behind. His sword was knocked an inch farther. He heaved with all his might and grabbed for it. He heard a _snick_ and realized Elizabeth had struck near his ear, a blow which he'd narrowly avoided by leaning toward his sword at the last moment. He closed his fingers around it, yanking it back to his chest, and then his eyes fell upon the deck.

Five long, black locks of his hair lay together, like dead soldiers, upon the deck. His eyebrows lifted, and a sad pout shaped his lips. "That's my hair. You've chopped off my hair. I can't believe it."

He rolled about a foot to the side, alarmed, clutching his sword for dear life. She was above him, breathing more heavily, her mouth open. She had both arms on either side of him, her sword still in her hand, lying on the deck. Her cheeks were flushed, and she looked vibrant, even happy. She held her face over his, bending down to whisper almost against his lips, "That's not all I'll chop off." Her breath stroked his lips and beard, and he saw an opportunity to take back the upper hand.

He moved up and kissed her, suddenly, completely and without holding back. He plunged his tongue between her lips, which had parted in either shock or desire, he wasn't sure which, and tasted every recess of her soft mouth, his left hand snaking around her waist to pull her against him, and he was extremely gratified to hear a soft moan escape her throat. She was kissing him back in earnest now, moving that smooth little tongue all over and brushing her soft lips against his moustache.

In what seemed like an instant, he was hard. He knew she could feel it, because she instinctively ground her hips against him, seeking him urgently. He rolled back to his left, pulling her with him, landing on top of her with a satisfied grunt. Her knees came up to squeeze his sides, and he shoved his hand roughly beneath her shirt, his palm sliding over her smooth stomach.

A soft whimper from Elizabeth. As he continued to kiss the life out of her, Jack felt the pounding of his pulse in his ears, and he obeyed its clamoring, sliding his palm higher until his hand closed over a firm, round breast. He was immensely gratified to feel her nipple pressing into his palm. A more pleading whimper reached his ears. He pinched her nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, and obtained the response he wanted: she cried aloud.

But this sound seemed to break her from her reverie. Her eyes shot open and she tore her mouth away from his. He tightened the grip on his sword in his other hand.

With a mighty one-handed shove she pushed him off of her, and he leapt quickly his feet. Her movements seemed drowsy, sluggish, and he barely had time to register this before moving to take action. _So she wasn't just playing_, he thought, smiling to himself. _That's interesting._

She was using her left hand to balance as she swung her ankles together to try to get to her feet. But Jack was faster, bending over to grab her ankles and trip her up. She fell on her knees, and he wasted no time in grabbing for her. She tried to throw her body away from his grasp, but she could not move far enough and he caught her by the hair, yanking her painfully against him.

She was on her knees in front of him, facing away, his hand wrapped in her hair. Where he was pressing her head against his body was no accident, as she felt the steel outline of his erection inside his trousers, digging roughly into her cheek. She moved to raise her sword but he yanked her hair again, and she cried out.

"Now, what was that you were going to cut off? Perhaps you ought to get to know it better, and then you'll come to like it," he said, lifting his sword up to the back of her neck, right under the hand that held her long, silky hair. "I think I'll cut off all _this_ – " another sharp tug " – and make myself something pretty."

"Don't," Elizabeth cried, before she could stop herself.

"Why not? No rule against it, far as I know. But if you want to cede, all you've got to do is say the word."

"_Please_, don't."

"Nope, that's not the one," he chided, and began to saw at the hair at the base of her neck with his sword.

"Stop it!" she begged, the pitch of her voice an anxious cry.

"Say, 'mercy,' and we're all done." He continued to saw. Several strands broke and came loose in his fist. "Come on, 'mercy'. Let me hear it."

What he heard was a scream of rage, as she drove her elbow up and back, narrowly missing his groin, but striking his thigh hard enough to cause him to relax his grip for a moment, and she shot out of his grasp and scrambled to raise her sword, facing him with wild, tear-filled eyes.

_She's afraid now_, Jack noted, as he rubbed his painfully throbbing thigh. _Good._


	11. Dancing in the Moonlight

Chapter 11: Dancing in the Moonlight

The sky had lightened to a soft blue-gray, casting an unearthly, surreal glow on the scene. The moon was still bright and a mist seemed to roll in from the ocean, surrounding the two people who stood facing each other on the deck. Elizabeth's breathing was ragged, desperate, each gasp audible. Still she clutched her sword tightly and assumed fighting stance, watching Jack's every move.

He feinted high and then swung around to shoulder-height, just as Elizabeth had raised her sword to block. His blade reached its target: her palm.

He pulled the blade back sharply, and Elizabeth gasped in pain and closed her fist, her sword dropping to the deck and bouncing, once, twice. Then it was still. Blood dripped, spotting the deck.

Her eyes were squeezed shut for a moment, only a fraction of a moment, as she assimilated the pain of her palm being sliced open, but Jack had already launched an attack. He dove for her, knocking her flat on the deck.

Another gasp of fear from her, and Jack had kicked her sword away with his toe as he wriggled higher on top of her, the weight of his body crushing her against the wood of the deck. In a panic she thrust her hand wildly against his face, trying to claw at him and keep him from getting closer, but he turned his head, moving his nose to the side, and her bloody palm slid over his damp cheek, smearing his face with her blood in a crooked line, like a pagan warrior. She tried again to push at his face with that hand, smacking him flat under the nose, but he shocked her by opening his mouth and running the flat of his tongue along the cut, which burned and soothed at the same instant, as it sent waves of heat rocketing through her insides. He fastened his lips around the center of the slice and sucked gently, and her arm trembled as a terrible weakness seemed to spread from the focal point of that wound, where Jack's hot, insistent mouth was still sealed to her.

He drew back suddenly, and grabbed her wrist in his left hand, pinning it swiftly down against the deck as he raised himself on one knee between her thighs.

"You've lost your sword," he said in a low, growling voice. "Call 'mercy'."

"No," she breathed defiantly, staring up into his face. He was handsome, she acknowledged reluctantly, so handsome he took her breath away, as she ran her eyes over his red scarf, elegant, high bronzed forehead, fine cheekbones now oddly smeared with her blood, and sensual, full lips. Lips that were headed for hers. She closed her eyes.

He kissed her again, just as passionately as before, his tongue entering her to taste every inch of her mouth, thoroughly. Only this time, she detected a trace of something salty, somewhat bitter. _Blood_, she realized. Her blood.

He raised his knee to grind his thigh against her sex. His leg was hard and unyielding through the rough black fabric of his breeches, and Elizabeth was reminded that Jack was lean and muscular under all those baggy clothes. That muscled thigh felt so good against her, so satisfying and strong, that she helplessly lifted her hips to rub herself against it, the sensation sparking a throbbing need that spread from her warming loins, threatening to engulf her.

She heard a rumble deep in his chest as his left hand released her wrist and grasped the top closure of the man's shirt she wore, prying the buttons apart impatiently. After two of them were undone his patience seemed to snap and he ripped the rest apart violently, several buttons flying off to skitter and bounce along the deck. The sides of the shirt fell apart, and in an instant, Jack's mouth had left hers and was moving, open, over her breast, before closing over her nipple.

He bit her, lightly, and she cried out, overwhelmed by the scratch of his beard against her soft skin and the flashes of lightning heat that cascaded rapidly downward from his grip on her breast. He suckled and pulled, lifting her breast away from her body, before letting go to allow it to bounce back and settle. She found his eyes with hers, and the hungry look in them washed over her, causing her to grind more urgently against his thigh. She was aching, needed something, something he could give her...

"Jack, _please_," had escaped her lips before she could stop herself.

"Very proper of you to beg nicely," he said, moving up to whisper against her ear in a deep, gravelly tone. "But unless it's 'mercy', I can't help you."

His words found their way into the mist that was fogging her brain, and she suddenly remembered the terms of the fight, and the reason she was there. Could she really have forgotten all that in just a few short minutes, at the touch of some man's hands and mouth and body? _Not just any man_, she berated herself. _ Captain Jack Sparrow._ The morally ambiguous, and completely charming, coward.

Instantly desperate again, she lifted the right arm he had released and brought it across his chest between them, and with a high-pitched grunt of anguish, pushed as hard as she could, toppling him off her to the side. She turned to face him as he got clumsily to his feet, his sword arm outstretched. With a leap and a hard kick, her booted foot connected with his wrist, which slammed into the deck rail. He grunted in pain, and his sword loosened in his grip and dropped.

"Bugger!"

In another instant she had grabbed it and held it up. He raised his eyes, still trying to process what was happening. His back was against the deck rail. She laid the pointed tip beneath his ear.

"Now _your_ sword is gone. Mercy, Captain Sparrow?"

He smiled and his eyes grew large as he looked down the sword at her, her open shirt lifted by the breeze, exposing her generous curves to his eyes. "Very well done, darling. But no." And he spun away in the opposite direction, tucking his head down and rolling on the deck to get by her.

She followed him, making wild slashing attempts with the sword, which was slightly too heavy for her, and not the one she was used to. The searing pain in her palm also made it hard to maintain her grip and make her blows accurate. He ducked and dodged and weaved, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"If you wanted to play with my sword, Lizzy, you only had to say the word. Let's go to my cabin and I'll show you – "

A ripping noise pierced the air as she brought the sword down on him with two hands, and he turned sideways, avoiding the blow just in time. It caught his trousers, rending them from right below the waistband to just above the middle of his left thigh. "Careful of the goods, love."

Just then the _Elizabeth_ pitched and rolled, and Jack swayed on his feet, maintaining his balance. But Elizabeth's sea legs were less developed, and she stumbled sideways, catching her foot on a coil of rope. She fell forward, her sword hand outstretched.

Jack was upon her in a second, grabbing her already-injured hand and lifting it to slam it, forcefully, against the deck. She cried out but did not release the sword. He gripped her hand more forcefully, lifted it and slammed it again, harder. She screamed.

The sword fell from her hand, and Jack snatched it back, only the handle was too slippery with sweat and blood for him to hang on, and it slid from his fingers to clatter on the deck. She reached for it, crawling on the ground, but he landed a kick to her stomach and she sprawled backward with a grunt. The ship pitched again and the sword slid down the deck, rolling in a circle toward the opposite end, far out of reach of the both of them.

She stared up at him from where she was now crouched, and he towered over her. "Mercy?" he said softly.

"No," she answered, straightening to her feet. She drew back her arm for a punch, and swung with all her might, but Jack caught her fist in both his hands and pivoted with her momentum, crushing her against him. His right hand came down to squeeze her waist, sending a fresh thrill through her aching body. She tried to stomp on his toe, but he scooted his foot out of the way, dragging her with him, as though they were dancing a waltz.

And they were dancing. A dance of passion. A dance of death. It brought them, struggling and pushing against each other, to the center of the deck, just under the main mast.

She secretly delighted in the feel of his hands on her, even when they were fighting, and she felt so connected to him, even more than ever before. It was so unusually wonderful when he touched her. Even if he only touched her to kill her. But it was too late to turn back now.

"Oh, look where we are, Lizzy," he said, grasping her arms and sliding his hands down to her wrists, pinning her arms against her sides. "Jus' like on the _Pearl_. What d'you say, a kiss for old times' sake?"

When he lowered his mouth to hers, Elizabeth was already moving to meet him, and their mouths met and mated with raw, unbridled passion. The ship creaked beneath them and Elizabeth pressed even closer against him, leaning into him for balance and warmth. He let his hands fall to her sides, and one of her arms came up to wrap around his neck as they kissed fervently, as though they were starving for the taste of each other. She leaned even closer against him by shifting her weight to one foot, rubbing her body against his, her shirt open to her sides, his hands moving inside to slide over her bare back. Her right shoulder dug into his chest as she straightened that arm, sliding it down over his stomach and abdomen to brush against the bare skin of his thigh that had been exposed by the cut in his trousers. He shuddered at the touch of her soft fingers, so close to his loins. He was ready to beg her to touch him, there, when he felt something poking into his neck. Something cool. And oddly pointy.

He opened his eyes and looked down the left side of his face. He saw Elizabeth's bloodied hand, holding a dagger to his throat, which she must have just withdrawn from her boot.

"I thought you'd never fall for that again," she said, her lips still parted, a hair's breadth from his own.

"Who says I did? Maybe I knew that's what you were doin', but decided it was worth it."

"Mercy then?" she whispered, brushing her wet, open lips over his, unable to move any farther from him.

"You know, a lady with a hidden weapon's a man's worst nightmare," he said softly, his lips still dancing, lightly, with hers.

She opened her eyes to look at him, a little perplexed, knowing he was insinuating something, but she knew not what. "Is that so? Why is that?"

He grinned against her lips. "Obviously, you haven't spent enough time in Tortuga." He kissed her in earnest, then, again, a gentle, slow kiss that was only interrupted by the sharp point of the dagger digging into his neck.

"Mercy?" she whispered.

"No. Do it," Jack said calmly. "Do it now. Cut my throat. Spill my blood all over the deck."

Her grip on the weapon tightened. "I can. I will. But I don't have to, if you'll say 'mercy' and end this."

"You had better, because if you don't, I'm going to kill _you_, my Lady E. Mark my words." His gently spoken words held the bite of truth, and they sank into her brain with a disturbing finality. And yet... his lips were so warm, so close, and his body so hot and firm against her, and that part of him, still hard, digging into the flesh of her abdomen, making her cheeks flushed and eliciting a thrilling moisture in that secret part of her. _Just one more kiss_, she decided... _just one more_. And she raised her lips to his.

He seized them eagerly, his tongue plummeting into her mouth despite the sharp prick of metal, circling and weaving and mimicking every part of the dance they had just performed, holding promises of sensual delights they'd not gotten to explore. Not yet. Not unless he lived.

She moaned, the sound music to his ears, and he was again reminded of the sad progress of his doom. This was how it had all ended, the first time, with him so hot for her that all she had to do was cast a glance in his direction, and he'd practically fall all over himself just to get near her. And he realized, as he heard the tiny sounds she was making in her throat, that if he died in the next minute, he would die a happy man. Not a satisfied man, but a happy one nonetheless. He wondered if, on dark and lonely Caribbean nights, she would miss Jack Sparrow when he was gone, and there was no one to make her blood pound in her chest, as it was doing now, or stoke the delightful need between her thighs, the heat of which he could feel against his leg and could swear that he could almost, almost smell.

Then he heard a dull _thump_ and wondered to himself if that was what death sounded like. He pulled his lips away from Elizabeth's for a moment, looking down to see the furious desire shaping her regally beautiful features, even more evident in the rapidly brightening dawn light. He looked left to see she had thrown the dagger down, so hard that it stuck, upright, between two boards of the deck. His lungs seemed to expand twice over with the force of his relief. But only for a moment.

Because the task he was most afraid of still lay before him.

He had promised to kill her. And that was one promise Captain Jack Sparrow intended to keep.


	12. Mercy

_WARNING: This chapter contains EXPLICIT violence and NC-17-rated sexual content. This is one of the chapters that determined the 'M' rating for the story. PLEASE do not read if you will be offended by any of that. PLEASE do not read if you are not 18. Just click 'Back' and read something else. Thanks, PirateMistress_

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Chapter 12: Mercy

Elizabeth heard Jack's sigh of relief as he saw she'd gotten rid of the dagger. Several strange looks passed over his handsome, exotic features. Relief, followed by something sadder... regret? Then his eyes turned back to her, and the final change she saw pass over his face was desire, fierce and unrelenting, and then his mouth descended on hers again.

She kissed him hungrily, eagerly, the curiosity and need that he'd been torturously raising in her all along – ever since they'd met, in fact – controlling her, taking over, making her kiss him for all she was worth. Her arms – both of them, this time – wrapped around his neck and his arms came around her back to haul her thrumming body against him, and she reveled in the sensation. She could smell him, not fresh like Will or her father, but raw and spicy and utterly masculine. She felt so vigorously alive. This must have been what Jack meant when he said, _Gets you all wiggly inside, don't it?_ Except it was him that had her insides wriggling, and she was so overcome with the desire to get closer to him, as close as possible, that her knees began to buckle.

He seemed to sense this and bent his knees to lift her, her booted feet coming off the ground, and carry her a few feet away, and right next to the edge of the deck, under the rail, he set her down and let her knees bend, sinking to the floor with her.

She lay on her side facing Jack, with one of his knees between her legs, and her mouth still seeking his repeatedly. She ground herself against his thigh, and Jack made a small sound of pleasure deep in his chest. She moved her hips that way, again, and was rewarded not only with a warm, swelling feeling in her sex, but a groan from Jack that told her he was enjoying this as much as she was.

Then he was easing her over, the other way, facing away from him, so that both her arms were behind her back, and he reached down to hold her wrists, pulling her back against him. She felt the warm, rough touch of his right palm on her stomach after he nudged the folds of her shirt aside, and he slowly slid his hand lower.

Her hips bucked back against him, driving the soft curve of her bottom against his painful erection, and he let out a hiss. "Easy, love."

"I want – "

"I know bloody well what you want."

He hastily unfastened the breeches she wore and shoved his hand roughly inside. She looked down at it, noting the rings he wore, and the fine lines of dirt marring the brown surface. But it didn't matter that Jack's hands were dirty. They were Jack's, and she wanted them on her. Needed them on her... there. His hands brushed the soft curls at the apex of her thighs, and she whimpered wordlessly, leaning her head back into Jack's shoulder. The fingers of his other hand stroked the soft skin of her wrists and forearms, behind her. Then she felt his hand that rested between her legs slide lower, and she cried out when the calloused pads of his fingers found the most sensitive part of her entire body.

Jack shuddered when he found her wet and wanting, and was so aroused he could barely focus on what he was doing.

He began to stroke her rhythmically, forward and back, making her burn more and more with every touch. He was not teasing, or gentle, but aggressive, the only cure for the urgent need she felt there.

At the same time... Elizabeth had never felt this way before, and could barely think what it was like... for some reason, the image of a hot cup of tea came unexpectedly to mind, and how it tasted when fresh, burning hot but strong and horribly bitter, too, with a subtle promise of pleasure brought out by just a touch of sugar, to make it sweet...

Her throbbing body was the tea, and Jack's hand was the sugar, entering her, spreading and dissolving, meeting all the complex notes and flavors and changing them, completely, forever... Her whole body seemed to seize up, and this transforming change was upon her, as the bitter need she had been feeling was swept with a powerful, warm wave, turning the bitter throbbing in her loins sweet, sweeter than sugar or rum or anything she'd ever tasted or felt, and she shuddered violently against his fingers, crying out his name aloud as the waves crashed over her.

When she could think again, she discovered Jack's hands were still on her, and she took a deep breath, trying to regain her composure. Her voice, when she found it, was shaky and breathless. "Jack... what was that? What did I... what happened?"

He chuckled, the sound vibrating against her arms and back. "You can have that any day, love. Any time, of any day. All you've got to do is say..." He broke off unexpectedly.

"Say what?"

"Say, 'mercy'," he finished, removing his hand and moving his body back from hers. The tone of his voice was strange, the desire was still there, but there was something darker, too, more sardonic. It rankled how she had exposed herself, given herself to him and he was still playing this sordid game, trying to humiliate her. Her hand itched to slap him, and she tried to lift her arm to enact that intention, but with sudden horror realized she could not move her hands.

Metal dug into the place where her hands met in back of her. Cold, unforgiving metal. A new, frightening chill descended on Elizabeth.

Jack had shackled her hands behind her back! While they were... while she was... whatever that delightful, agonizing feeling was.

She sat up and scooted around to face him, growing immediately furious. "You... you... bastard!"

"Now, now, that's not what I want to hear."

She struggled against his grip, as he leaned forward and brought her to her feet, backing her against the deck rail.

"You filthy scoundrel...you drunken... lout... you... _pirate_!" She kicked at him but he dodged it easily, and he took the opportunity to place his body between her legs, and he lifted her up so she was sitting on the deck rail.

"I'd have a care what I was saying, if I were you. Which I'm not. But you are in a very dangerous spot just now, Lizzy, so I'd suggest you start thinking about how the word 'mercy' is pronounced."

"You can take your rotten mercy and shove it right – "

He shook her then, hard, by the shoulders, and leaned down to stare meaningfully into her eyes. "Let me make it perfectly clear to you, love. You've got no weapons left. Your hands are bound. You're about to be tossed overboard, boots, boobs an' all, by a man you've tried to kill a good number of times, now. No one's goin' to save you. It'll be hours before anyone even notices you're gone."

She considered his words, the deadly seriousness with which they were pronounced, and felt the seed of fear that had been planted by the shackles grow into a real, palpable possibility. She was angry, so angry, about all the times he'd served himself at her expense, but afraid, too, never having been quite this vulnerable before. She envisioned the scenario, quite easily, him giving her a gentle push that would send her hurtling down to the churning water, and she'd plunge in, helpless. No one would know until the morning shift – not long, now, as she noted the sunlight was just breaking on the deck, pink and rosy. No one was nearby to help her, not even Will. _Will_.

"Will won't ever forgive you," she said testily, watching for his reaction.

He smiled. "True enough. Doesn't change anything."

She scanned her mind for any tidbit that would save her, thinking of the conversation she'd had with Will in the brig, his tender concern for her, his fear.

"You promised him you wouldn't hurt me." She watched his expression warily, looking for any sign of softening. There was none. Only a brief, sad smile.

"Pirate," he whispered, and lifted his hand to stroke her face, from her hairline to her jaw. "Now, do I hear a 'mercy'?"

"No."

"Come on."

"No," she spat from between clenched teeth. "No."

He reached his hands around and yanked her against him, then, and she could feel he was still hard for her, still wanted her despite all of it. "Say it, Lady E. Say it, and I'll forget that I'm supposed to kill you, that you deserve it, I'll forget all of it, and I'll take you to my cabin right now, and we'll do the deed right an' proper, and you won't regret a moment of it because it'll be the finest hour of your life. Say it. Just say it, for me."

"No," she said, a little more shakily, as the full force of his intentions hit her. The dawn was breaking behind her, and the sun began to peek up over the horizon. It occurred to her that this was her last dawn, and Jack the last man she would ever see, and she wouldn't get to _do the deed right an' proper_, as he'd put it. She would die a virgin. An unloved, very angry virgin.

Her eyes closed in order to shield her emotions from his view as she pondered it all. For a moment she considered relenting, apologizing, even just to get his guard down, until she could finish him. But she knew she couldn't do that, either, not with her own hands. She wanted to, but when she had that knife against his throat, and his pulse was throbbing against her fingertips, it was to taste Jack, to love Jack, not to kill him, that she desired most.

But it was too late. He would push her off the ship into the sea, and stare down, as she sank helplessly into the depths. A thought occurred to her.

"Even shackled, I can still _swim_." She opened her eyes and looked at him, her glance a caress on his black brows, black eyelashes and unsmiling mouth.

"Not if you're unconscious, love."

His softly spoken words, issued as tenderly as a term of endearment, had the opposite effect of chilling her to the bone. _He's thought this through_, she realized. _He means to do it_.

"'Mercy', Elizabeth. 'Mercy', and forget it all, that you're a murderer and a menace and a monster."

At the mention of the word 'monster', Elizabeth shuddered inwardly. _Is that what he really thinks of me?_ "I only did what I had to do, Jack. I had to save us, and you were the price."

"Funny, I'm left feeling rather cheated by that deal."

Inwardly, she recollected the events leading up to their last moments on the _Pearl_, the Kraken's attacks, waiting for Will to be clear of the net, the gun being knocked from her hands by a huge tentacle. The feeling of powerlessness, the rage inside, knowing Jack, the coward, was rowing away to safety.

She clung to that thought, hoping desperately that it would save her. The rage had channeled into her, and she was angry again.

"You won't do it," she stated coldly.

"Why not?"

"You're still a coward."

"I faced you, didn't I? Wasn't that what you wanted, a fair fight? And now you've had it, and you've lost, and you're still saying 'coward'? Elizabeth, you're deluding yourself. Jus' like a woman."

Her anger intensified even more, and she squeezed her jaw shut tight. "You won't really do it. You can't."

"I can, an' I will."

"No."

"Mercy?"

"No."

"Last chance. I mean it."

The dawn had now fully broken, and rays of light framed Elizabeth's face. She couldn't know how perfectly, ironically angelic she appeared to Jack's eyes, her rum-colored hair blowing in the breeze, her expression resolute. The ship moved and groaned, and the sound seemed to surround them, enveloping them. A gull's cry rang out, sad and painful to the ears. Elizabeth met his eyes, and slowly shook her head. "No."

He kissed her, then, hard, tasting her mouth for one final time. She gave in to it, hoping against hope that he'd relented, that he meant to confess she was right all along and take her away, back to his cabin, back to the brig... anywhere.

Then his lips were gone from hers, the taste of him remaining on her tongue.

"Goodbye, Elizabeth," he said soberly, and raised his arm.

He brought it down and struck her hard across the face, her hair flying out in a circle.

Her limp body tumbled off the rail and fell, silently, down into the raging sea.

_He did it._

Elizabeth kicked her legs in the water, having been very quickly pulled back to consciousness by the feel of the ocean water on her skin. Either that, or Jack hadn't hit her very hard.

But she was now below the surface, and no matter how frantically she kicked, she couldn't seem to gain any distance upward without the use of her hands.

_I can't believe he actually did it_, she thought. _He murdered me._

Disbelief gave way to sadness, and desperation, as she kicked, and sank very slowly, but inevitably, downward. The center of her palm stung painfully in back of her, and she realized the large wound must be bleeding again, releasing tiny red clouds into the water. She wondered if she would even have time to drown before the sharks got to her. And she realized, with a clarity that had thus far eluded her, under layers of pride and anger and proper British detachment, that this was how Jack must have felt, after that day on the _Pearl_.

_Jack_.

There was no anger, no bitterness now, and she felt only a deep, overwhelming sorrow that she'd never see his face again, never laugh at him or kiss him or make love to him. It was too late for all of that, and it was all her fault.

She cursed her wretched pride, which had kept her from telling him how she really felt about that day, back on the _Pearl_... how much she had wanted to kiss him, to keep kissing him, but he'd put them in danger and she had no other choice. She wished she could tell him now; tell him she was sorry.

In the back of her mind, the other people and places in her life clamored for her attention and thought. Will... he'd never be the same after this. Her poor father, with his weak heart, she hoped the news of her death wouldn't kill him outright. James, who she'd always admired and adored, but for whom couldn't muster up the slightest bit of romantic feeling.

And the people she'd never gotten to know, all over the world, the adventures she'd never have. Children. Unbidden, the image of a child rose to her mind. A bizarre one, with flashing dark eyes and olive skin and untamed black hair, running along the deck of a ship in the sunlight. Too late. Too late.

She was slowly drowning, she knew, fighting her own urge to inhale as the light of the surface faded and gave way to the silent, shady depths.

_Mercy,_ she cried inside her mind, as the crushing blackness took her.

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_A/N: Stay tuned for Chapter 13._


	13. The Sea and the Serpent

Chapter 13: The Sea and the Serpent

Captain Jack Sparrow stared over the edge of the deck in the dawn light, still able to see Elizabeth's body as it sank farther and farther into the sea. Tugging gently on the braids of his goatee, as he always did when truly nervous, he fought the panic rising in his chest and pushed himself away from the rail. He tried to congratulate himself, to tell himself that, all said and done, he had won. Which had always made him feel happy, before. But all he could think about, suddenly, was everything that he had lost to the cold, unyielding sea.

Lots of treasure. Friends. The _Pearl_. And now... _her_.

Regret, that two-timing, cruel, deceitful whore of an emotion, was fighting its way out from his heart, howling at the top of her lungs. He hadn't given her a fair chance, it yelled at him.

But he had.

He hadn't given her enough time to apologize, it insisted.

But he had.

Not even _he_ really believed he would do it, really strike her lights out and watch her drown in the sea, even though she deserved it.

But he had.

He was already hastily stripping off his boots and lifting his leather holster belt over his head, dropping it to the deck, when he heard a very familiar, very spooky whisper deep inside his head.

"Jack Sparrow..."

It was the Voice.

_Not now. Rather busy at the moment!_

"What are you doing?" the Voice whispered, the sound echoing through his brain.

_I'm not doing, I'm undoing. In a hurry._

"Don't do it, Jack."

_Not listening. Got to go now._

"Jack, you cannot save her."

_Bloody well goin' to try._ He dashed toward the rail.

"Jack, I can't permit you to take it back."

_Take what back?_ He sat on the edge and swung his bare feet over.

"The sacrifice of the virgin." The _s_ in sacrifice seared through his brain, and as comprehension slowly dawned through his confusion, he began to be more afraid than before.

Words and images flooded through his mind, one after the other.

The witch: _"All de blood of de virgin. Dis was de price of raisin' him from de dead."_

Barbossa: _"If I don't bring the blood by sunset, the gods will undo what they did and I go back... to Hell." _ Mad, rattling laughter.

Jack himself: _"If it were God, he'd have given me a boat."_

The Voice, in his dream: _"Tempted by carnal desires...Do not despoil her for your own perverse pleasure."_

Jack himself, again: _Thought only heathen gods were this pushy about timing. Is that you, Quetzalcoatl?_

The witch: _De headen gods be dangerous. An' dere's someting dey always wannt for deir troubles._

Blood. Of a virgin.

_Elizabeth_.

Jack retraced his mental steps over and over, hitting the same bumps and tripping over the same torn-up boards, and was still afraid to conclude the truth. He saw the blood pouring from Elizabeth's hand. He heard the mad cackling of Barbossa, and the serpentine caress of the Voice.

"My God, what have I done?" he muttered aloud. Without wasting another second, he then plunged himself, headfirst, into the churning water below.

Jack swam as he'd never swum in his entire life. His arms made great, sweeping strokes beside him, and his legs pumped furiously, relentlessly, to carry him downward with a speed matched only by something that actually possessed scales, and fins.

In truth, he'd only thought as far as reaching her, not about conserving enough energy to propel them upwards, or saving enough breath to reach the surface again. He had always prided himself on his lung capacity – _has to hold lots o' hot air_, Gibbs once said – but confidence in his abilities was the farthest thing from his mind. Having already drowned, he felt no fear of the dark ocean's void, and instead feared that he would live, having to know that she was gone, and he had done it.

Perhaps they would both meet in Hell. He was certain to be headed there, after the dissolute life he'd led, and she... mate-murdering tendencies aside, she had gone so far as to actually chop off whole chunks of his hair. A good chance she'd be headed there too.

He thought of Davey Jones, and wondered if he'd end up serving an eternity there on _that_ ship, after all, laboring beside Bootstrap and all the others. No small wonder the poor man had ripped out his still-beatin' heart and locked it away, and now it was god-knows-where, probably being used as leverage in a tug-of-war between Commodore, Lord, and Sea-Captain... Jack wished he could have locked his own heart away, too, somewhere nice and warm, to protect it from the damage wreaked upon it by one pretty, brilliant yet foolish, tawny-haired British lass.

As he swam deeper, the salty sea water stinging his eyes, the vast irony of his predicament struck him... of all the women he'd known in his life, all the women he'd come to like and respect, like Anamaria and Tia Dalma... and his mum, God rest her soul... and all the women he'd used to satisfy his intermittent sexual appetites... Giselle, countless other doxies in Tortuga and Singapore and all over the bloody world, truth be told... the only woman he found himself able to love, even in his own admittedly selfish, immature, obsessively sexual way... was the only woman he could absolutely, positively never have.

And the one he'd just stupidly, thoughtlessly murdered.

He almost gave up, right then, almost said _To hell with it_ and _God damn me for a fool, anyway_, when he caught a flash of something brown and waving, just to his right. It brushed his outstretched fingers, and he tried to get hold of it. It was hair. _Her_ hair.

With a final burst of speed he reached down and grabbed a handful, arresting his downward motion, and pulling her up into his arms, relief shooting through him. He looked up at the surface – the morning sun barely visible through the aqua water – and began to stroke, feverishly, toward the surface.

They'd never make it, Jack thought, even as he swam as hard as he could. It's just like the other time. Too far down, not enough time left_. We're done for. Bring on the Judgment. Lizzy and I can share a cabin on the ship to pirate Hell. Maybe then I can finally get her in my bed..._

But that thought brought to mind the other part, too, about the Voice. He'd been made a fool of by whatever it was. The anger seemed to channel new energy into his feet.

Nobody made a fool of Captain Jack Sparrow. Not an undead pirate, not a pasty-skinned British princess of a woman, not some slimy bastard of a heathen god. Well, all right, maybe the woman. But definitely _not_ the god.

He kicked and swam with one arm while he clutched Elizabeth against him with the other. It never occurred to him to pray. He was finished with deities.

With a suddenness that shocked him and nearly sent him slipping back into the silent blue waves, his head broke the surface. He took huge, gasping breaths as he adjusted Elizabeth's limp body in front of him.

Her lips were blue, and her skin whiter than scrubbed canvas. He slid her over his left shoulder and paddled, his muscles straining, toward one of the ropes suspended from the ship. With great effort he hauled himself, inch by inch, up the rope, Elizabeth's limp weight making it harder than ever before... and it had been a while since he'd pulled himself onto a ship like this... had forgotten how hard it was. But he put hand over hand, bracing his feet against the slippery hull, trying to keep balanced so that Elizabeth wouldn't slip. They'd come too far for him to give up now. With a final, heaving effort, he reached the lip of the deck and slid Elizabeth onto it, then crawled up and collapsed next to her, totally exhausted.

After a minute, Jack was extremely displeased to hear an urgent whisper in his mind.

"Jack Sparrow."

_You! You've got a lot of nerve talking in my head again, after THAT._

"It's time to go, Jack."

_Go? I'm not goin' anywhere, you lyin', cheatin'... higher being!_

"You've withdrawn the sacrifice. That means I can no longer restore you to life."

Jack sat up and opened his eyes, and scanned the deck for his sword. He saw it, lying on a pile of rope near the prow, and crawled toward it.

_I can't believe anything you say. Everything you told me about Lizzy was a lie._

"Not at all, Jack. On the contrary, everything I showed you was true. But you were weak, and did not complete your mission."

_Weak, eh? I'll show you who's weak_, he thought at the presence, his hand finally closing around his sword. _Show yourself, you bloodthirsty wretch. Show yourself, and fight me!_

Jack's eyes scanned the deck forwards and backwards, the aural light turning slowly from pink to orange.

"Very well," said the Voice.

A mist seemed to sprout from the center of the deck, shimmering in the golden light. A reflection seemed to shoot out from it, like light glinting off a steel sword. The metallic glimmer moved this way and that, in a giant curvilinear _S_, before seeming to part the mist with a razor-sharp, echoing, glassy note that rang out in the morning air.

The mist fell away, and in its place was a serpent. Its body was a sizable foot in diameter, and at least twenty feet long, covered in shiny, leaf-green scales. Its head bore a terrifyingly impassive gold mask and rose to a height halfway up the main mast. Behind the head, iridescent feathers sprouted, populating wings more profound than those of an albatross. Its eyes, visible through the mask, swung around to fix on Jack, and he saw they were golden, too, with swirling colors in the irises.

It was huge, and beautiful, and terrifying. The witch's words came back to him, then.

_Quetzalcoatl_. The feathered serpent.

Meaning, giant Aztec snake, Jack translated. Really big... snake. Not good. Not good.


	14. The Forked Tongue

Chapter 14: The Forked Tongue

"Are you ready to die, Jack Sparrow?" The voice was still a hiss in Jack's mind, only now that the god was in front of him, its long, forked tongue flicked out with the words, and he heard it aloud, as well.

"Not jus' yet, mate," Jack said aloud, summoning all his bravado to disguise the burgeoning terror and despair that was making its way out from his gut. His eyes fell on Elizabeth, who was still white and unmoving, her hands still shackled together. He felt along his belt for the keys, withdrew them, and bent to her, unlocking them and they fell away. Then he turned again to face the snake.

"You must die, if you're not willing to sacrifice the girl." More rolling and unrolling of the tongue. Jack swallowed his nausea and searched his brain for information, questions, logic, lies, anything that might save him. Them.

"Never said I wouldn't, exactly, but it hardly seems fair to set up the ritual without my even knowing about it, your... shininess." He wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his sword, but let it remain at his side, for the moment.

"It became clear that Barbossa would fail in his duty to bring me the girl. It was unclear whether or not you would obey."

"So you made up a lot of donkey droppings about how Lady E was evil and I should punish her."

"She has the seed of evil in her," hissed the serpent.

"Oh, so she and the Commodore got it on after all, eh?" He chuckled, and waved an arm merrily. "Thought you heathen deities were only interested in _virgins_."

"Not that kind of seed. The shadow. She is capable of evil things. I tasted it when her blood fell in the chest." The _S_ sounds reverberated in the still morning air, surrounding Jack, unnerving him.

"Speaking of which, what in the world are we doing all the way out here in the ocean, now that you mention it? We're nowhere _near_ Isla de Muerta."

"The location is not of importance. It is the _girl_ that matters most to me."

"A fine sentiment, friend, but I'll have to warn you, there's quite a line for her. Three or four deep, if I'm not mistaken. Def'nitely four, if you count Barbossa, the old dog. Speaking of which, why was he so hot to get to Isla de Muerta, if not for the sacrifice?"

"His own greed propelled him to return," snarled the serpent voice. "He planned to trade the virgin for the rest of the Aztec treasure. Everything except the chest, which was cursed."

"Everything-" Jack broke off, shuffling on his feet, unable to believe his ears. "Everything _except_ the chest? You mean to tell me there's hoards of gold an' treasure rotting over there, and only the bleedin' _chest_ bore the curse? Those nice little coins? That was _it_?"

A cough sounded from behind Jack, and he saw Elizabeth stirring, about fifteen feet across the deck. She was trying to move wet, clinging strands of hair from her face, and open her eyes. She suddenly coughed again, and spewed a good amount of water onto the deck.

"Meant to tell you before, you're so lovely when you vomit, darling," Jack called to her while wrinkling his nose, secretly relieved she was, in fact, still alive. For now. Her eyes turned to him as she struggled to breathe.

"Jack?" The word was a small, surprised gasp, with the faintest of hopeful notes in her voice. "What's happening?" She looked Jack over, from head to toe, and then her gaze fell on the giant, writhing serpent, and she placed a hand to her chest, appearing to feel for her own heartbeat. She looked back and forth, again, from Jack, to the huge snake god. "Is this... is this hell?"

"No, love, still the Caribbean, although they do have a remarkably similar climate." After a pause, he added, "And come now... you, me, a giant snake for all of eternity... not so bad, is it? Think of the possibilities. But, you are alive."

"Jack Sparrow, you must ready yourself to die." The serpent seemed to be losing patience, and it bent its head down, bending its long, reptilian neck nearly in half, and glared at Jack. "Either that, or go and finish the girl."

"Me? It wants _me_?" Elizabeth choked out, the first stirrings of indignance raising the pitch of her voice.

"Hush, love, Daddy's talking," Jack admonished her, with two exaggerated pointing jabs toward the giant snake.

The hiss returned. "What's it going to be, Jack? You? Or the virgin?"

"You know, Quetzy," he said, clearing his throat and taking a few, sauntering steps in front of the snake, "you're really putting me in a tough spot, philosophically speaking. Not that _she_'s all that valuable, mind you, but as I've said before, there'd be several men linin' up to skin me if I let anything happen to her, savvy?"

"The choice is yours, Jack Sparrow."

Jack's mind was spinning rapidly. "How about – Let's make a deal, shall we? You let us two go, and I'll find you _another_ virgin."

Silence.

"A _better_ one," Jack added. "A prettier one." He could swear he heard Elizabeth's teeth begin to gnash together.

"Pure?" hissed the snake.

"Pure as the driven snow. So... I'm told, not that I've ever _seen_ snow, precisely. Purer than _her_, anyway," he said, indicated Elizabeth with a jerk of his thumb. He inwardly cringed and readied himself to duck, wondering what there was sitting near her that she could hurl in his direction.

Silence from the snake. Silence from Elizabeth.

_I want my tiny knife_, Jack suddenly thought, as the serpent's head glided closer and he stared into its flashing, multi-colored eyes. He leaned down to touch his boot with his left hand, still holding the sword in his right, and felt only bare leg. That's right, he had removed his boots before jumping in after the strumpet. He glanced over near Elizabeth, where his boots lay, one horizontally, one still standing up. How to get it...

"No, no other virgin will do. It must be you, or her. What's it going to be? I'm still waiting for an answer, and my patience is wearing thin."

Jack tightened his grip on the sword. "I'm sorry, mate, I can't do it. Can't give her to you. Not even to save my own..." He glanced over at Elizabeth, who was now sitting up straight, staring at him wistfully, with tears in her eyes. Although it must have just been the sea water, and his smile became rueful, as he was about to echo her very words. "...my own, sorry, hide."

"Jack, no," she protested feebly, trying to get to her feet.

"Then you have sealed your fate, Jack Sparrow. You are a fool to die when you could live."

"Yes, go on, be a mean ol' snake, make me feel bloody terrible, but do get on with it, won't you?" Jack raised his sword.

"Your weapons are no use against me," the snake hissed, tongue unwinding. Its neck compressed, and it seemed ready to launch an attack.

Jack decided to strike first, lifting the blade over his shoulder and swinging it round his head in a smooth arc, aiming for the serpent's neck. When the blade made contact with the green, scaly skin, the sword seemed to freeze in midair, and before Jack's eyes, it shattered into five pieces and fell to the deck.

"Right, no use at all, that's what you said, wasn't it? Just checkin'. _Elizabeth!_" he howled, and dove for cover. The snake lunged at him as he cowered behind the longboat, dodging the serpent's huge, snapping bites first left, then right.

"Jack!" she screamed. She was on her feet, her wet clothes clinging to her body as she seemed prepared to run toward him.

"No! Stay over there," Jack yelled to her, as she left the vicinity of his boots. He leapt over the longboat and dashed toward the prow. The snake followed him, swiftly, its coils winding and unwinding on the deck. He was having a hard time running in bare feet, and his arms flew straight out in front of him, as though to ward off an enemy from that direction, as well. He swung around the base of one of the smaller masts, and the snake lunged with a snap behind him.

It followed him around the pole. "Elizabeth," he called, and drew a finger rapidly across his throat.

She watched helplessly, confused, understanding the 'kill' gesture but not what action it demanded. _He wants me to help him_, she thought. _But how?_

"Tell me what to do!" she cried.

The serpent whipped its head toward her, then, as though seeing her clearly for the first time. It began to slither toward her.

"_No!_ No," Jack said, and threw himself on the body of the serpent, right underneath its great, rainbow wings. "It's me you want. Come back here."

The serpent let out a terrible hiss and bent its head backward to Jack, narrowly missing him with its long, sharp fangs.

"Elizabeth-" Jack said loudly to her, as he was tossed from the snake's body onto the deck, with a grunt. "One last thought for you! A lady with a hidden weapon – a hidden weapon – "

The serpent lunged at him again, this time sinking its fangs into the wood of the deck, which it tore up and spit out in a graceful curve, as Jack rolled out of the way just in time.

Elizabeth's mind raced. _A hidden weapon_. Where? She scanned the deck for any sign of a special weapon, seeing only her sword – and having witnessed what happened to his, she didn't think that would aid him much – and her dagger, which still stuck between boards right under the mainmast, but Jack could easily reach that, given how close he was. He must mean something else. Something she didn't know about.

Jack slid on his back like an upended turtle, dodging the snake's blows, which were now aimed at his neck. "A man's worst nightmare! Always _remember_ _that_, Lizzy, won't you? _Remember_ that a hidden weapon-"

And she listened and watched in horror, as the snake's bites got closer and closer to Jack's limbs, she racked her brain desperately. She remembered what he'd said... they were under the main mast, and her mind had been hazy with desire, but she'd managed to extract that knife from her boot and hold it... a knife. She was sure that was what he'd meant with the finger across the throat. She was looking for a knife.

Where would Jack Sparrow hide a knife?

She ran her eyes over the mayhem on the deck, her gaze finally falling on his soft, brown boots, sitting haphazardly near the rail of the deck. _A lady with a hidden weapon_... she had hidden it in her boots, couldn't he have done the same thing?

She ran over to them and plunged her hand inside, feeling every crevasse of the leather. Nothing in that one. She hastily grabbed the other one and upended it, shaking it out on the deck, and to her surprise – and immense relief – a small knife clattered out onto the deck. She picked it up, noting how unusual it was, with its painted handle and bone-chipped blade.

Jack began to feel, for the tenth or eleventh time in the last three days, that the luck that had blessed him in his earthly existence was about to run out. He had tried to get up and run again, after attempting to evade the snake low to the ground, but one of the snake's coils had shot out and snared his bare ankle, pulling him down to the ground on his stomach with a crash.

He tried to get up again, but his foot was still snared by the monster, and he turned around to see the gold-plated face bearing down on him from only two feet away, mouth open, fangs flashing.

"Oh, _bugger_."

"Say your goodbyes, Jack Sparrow," it hissed, its tongue coming out to brush over his grimacing face.

"_Jaaaaaaack!"_

_Elizabeth. I do hope she's found it_.

He turned his face away from the serpent's hot breath to see Elizabeth standing near the helm, holding the tiny knife in her hand.

_Please, God – er, Gods – the other God – let her throw better than she shoots. Please._

She drew back her arm and launched the small weapon into the air. He watched the knife as it seemed to float in slow motion, leaving her long, elegant fingers and hurtling, blade over hilt, through the sunlit air. It seemed to shimmer with the same metallic gleam that had characterized the appearance of the snake-god, and it shone beautifully against the light blue-gray sky. It fell toward him in a perfect arc, and he extended his arm naturally, as though guided by some unseen force, to place his hand in position and snatch it from the air, the rings on his hands glimmering in the morning sunlight.

In the next instant he turned and plunged it, mercilessly, into the snake's shiny, green hide.

A great hissing howl filled the air, and Jack felt the grip around his foot loosen, and he wasted no time in stepping back, away from the monster. God. Thing. He stumbled over a coil of rope and fell back on his bottom on the deck.

Mist seemed to shoot out of the hole where the dagger still pierced its skin, and the snake's mouth opened, the tongue rolling out to fling wildly about in the air. The mist seemed to surround the snake's body, wrapping around its coils, until finally there was that same glass-reflection that seared Jack's eyeballs before, and it zipped along the snake's body, from head to toe, in a rapid motion.

And then it was gone.

"Jack!"

He grunted as Elizabeth's weight smacked into him, toppling him flat on the deck. She had literally thrown herself into his arms, and he wrapped his arms tight around her still-damp form, closing his eyes and inhaling her scent, deeply, gratefully. He lay on his back and she was sprawled on top of him, her legs spread over his, her face buried in his shoulder. He felt her take a deep, sobbing breath, and before he knew it, he could feel her hot tears against the skin of his neck.

"Jack - can't believe it – so scared that you'd – so _sorry_, Jack, I'm so sorry, I'm so-" and she broke off into gasping sobs, and he patted the back of her neck reassuringly.

"Was that the apology I've been dying for? Almost literally, I might add?" he said wryly, listening to her moan and sob her heart out. She seemed to regain some control, after a moment, and sat up off of him, propping herself on her arms.

"Yes," she said, lifting a long, wet strand of hair from her face. Her face softened as she looked down at him, watching her. "Oh, Jack... can you ever forgive me?"

He looked at the earnest pleading in her warm, rum-colored eyes, and felt his black pirate heart turn to mush. For a moment. But not without a fight.

"Oh...fine, you're forgiven." At her immediate, face-splitting grin, he continued, trying his hardest to look fierce. "Don't look so happy, you half-pirate wench... if you ever, _ever_, EVER murder me again... I really will kill you. Savvy?"

She closed her eyes and nodded, once, before leaning over to curl against him, again. Noticing the utter stillness that surrounded them, she lifted her head to ask Jack, "What's happened to everyone else? There must have been enough noise up here to wake the dead."

"I gave them all a double ration of rum last night. I find that often results in a long night and quiet, peaceful morning. And I didn't want any interruptions during our... rendezvous."

"Ah," she said, trailing a finger along the beard at his jaw. She lifted a corner of her damp shirt to mop what appeared to be dried snake saliva off his cheek. She then leaned in to whisper in his ear. "Jack... you said... before..."

"Said what, love?"

"You said... there were things, things you would teach me, show me."

The breathily innocent tone of her voice set his blood to pounding in his ears again, and desire, hot and hungry, swept through him like wildfire. Even more strongly so, since he'd been convinced for most of the last several hours that he was about to die. Near-death scenarios always seemed to push his buttons nicely. He searched for a witty answer, but none came, and his mouth opened and closed again, soundlessly.

"You can – you can – " she slid her hand along his stomach and torso, gliding up toward his neck. "You can take me back into your cabin and show me, now."

He rolled her off him to the side, and looked straight into her eyes, trying to discern if there was any ulterior motive to those softly purred words that were setting his blood boiling, and, seeing no deception or malice there, words failed him once again. He couldn't believe himself, struggling to think of something to say. Most ironic. The smart-mouthed trickster pirate, at a total loss for words.

But he wasn't about to waste another second dwelling on it. In a heartbeat he had scooped her up in his arms, and headed across the deck and up the steps to his cabin as though the devil himself were after them.

Once inside, he set her down on her feet, and began to slide the clinging, sopping shirt off her shoulders, leaning close to her ear to whisper huskily, "How 'bout we get you out of these wet clothes, shall we? Next you'll catch your death of a cold an' perish, and won't _that_ be the most ironic ending of all..."

----------------------------

_A/N: If you are offended by mature sexual content, or are under 18, please let the above be your ending. For everyone else, there is a Chapter 15. Please read at your own risk, as you have been warned about the content._


	15. Sacrifice of the Virgin

_Warning: Mature sexual content. Please do NOT read if you will be offended or are under 18. Simply click back and read something else._

Chapter 15: Sacrifice of the Virgin

If he'd really believed Elizabeth was 'good', it might have put a different spin on the situation.

Perhaps. He might still want her enough to damn his own personal moral compass to hell and take her notwithstanding.

But it would be less likely. And all of that was irrelevant, anyway, because Elizabeth wasn't 'good'.

She was, in fact, seductively peeling her wet shirt from her naked body, and letting him watch as she did it. There was no need for guile, or pretense. She wanted to arouse him. He could tell that she did. And she was doing a damn good job of it. He sidled closer to her and cupped one of her breasts in his hands, rubbing his thumb delicately over the nipple, still watching her face for a reaction. Her eyes remained open, but he noticed her cheeks seemed to flush, and she blinked, hard, before returning her gaze to his.

Elizabeth was not 'good'. Elizabeth was great. And terrible. And beautiful, and dangerous, and probably some other things he hadn't figured out yet. But he'd get to know some of them in the next few minutes. He hoped.

"You have figured out, haven't you, what we're going to do, in here?" he said, looking down at her through heavily lidded eyes, his mouth in a sober line, his voice low and silky smooth.

She smiled, turning her head to the side slightly, as he continued to fondle her breast. "Not sure of all the details, but I've a pretty good idea." He reached for the other one with his left hand, and then he held both.

"May I ask what it was that finally tipped the scales, as it were, in my favor?" He lifted both her breasts, then, weighing them in his hands.

She shivered, perhaps from the feel of the air on her exposed, damp skin, perhaps from something else. "You frightened me. I mean, _really_ frightened me."

He contained his satisfaction in a small smirk that turned the edges of his eyes upwards, and made him even handsomer.

"You like that, do you? Not surprised. Was it the shackles?"

"Yes."

"Your hair, too?"

"My hair."

"The spider?"

She groaned, whether from his ministrations on her breasts or the memory, he wasn't sure. "The blasted spider," she exhaled in a soft purr.

"Remind me to teach you to swear properly."

"Hmmm, later, perhaps." She took a step toward him, cast a quick glance up and down his face, and raised her lips to his. It was a kiss that tested the waters, gently at first. Neither of them had completely closed their eyes. Whether it was because of desire to watch, or the omnipresent mistrust, he wasn't sure. It was a kiss between friends, a kiss between equals.

She lied, she cheated, she killed. And so did he. It was what they had to do.

Just as taking her, right there, in the morning, in his cabin, with the crew going to be up and about and her fiancé somewhere wandering the ship, or perhaps snug in his own cabin without the least inkling of what was happening – which, knowing Will, was more likely – was what he _had_ to do.

"What was it, if I may ask, that tipped the scales in _my_ favor?" she demanded, a teasing note in her voice, as she unbuttoned his dripping tunic and guided it off his shoulders, and began to work on the buttons of his shirt.

"Meaning?"

"Why did you decide to rescue me, after all?"

"Oh, that." She was pressing kisses along his collarbone, now, feather-light, but incredibly erotic, and he found himself struggling to think. He pulled his arms out of his open shirt, and it dropped to the floor. "Lots of reasons."

"Such as?"

"These," he said, lowering his mouth to hers, again, and nibbling her lips gently, drawing her lower lip between his teeth, and pulling, lightly, before letting it go. "And these." He dropped his hands to her shoulders and moved them outward, sliding down her upper arms. "And these, of course." He returned his hands to her breasts, using his palm this time to gently massage her nipples, as they pressed eagerly into his palm. "Bet you never thought they'd save your life."

She punched him, then, playfully, and her fist struck the muscled ridges at the side of his abdomen. "That's not nice," she chided.

"But it _is_ the truth, love." He sighed as she ran her nails over the muscle at his side, fascinated by his masculinity. "And you asked."

"Any _other_ reasons?" she prodded, a light note to her voice.

Jack grinned, and he dropped his hands from her breasts to her sides, slipping his fingers inside the waistband of her trousers. "I can think of at least one."

"And what's that?" Her voice was soft and breathy.

"Give me a moment, and I'll point it out to you," he murmured, still playing along. He opened the trousers and they fell, too, to join the shirt on the floor. She tried to step out of them, but was hampered by her boots, which were oversized and which neither one of them had thought to remove first. Jack bent his knees, slowly, still very close to her, his hot breath falling first on the valley between her breasts, then on her stomach, then on her abdomen. His hands caressed her backside, the backs of her thighs, and then he reached down to remove her boots, first one, then the other, as he pressed a kiss to her soft skin, and then opened his mouth to bite her tenderly, her young skin immediately snapping back into place when he released it.

"You're so damned young," he whispered against her belly. "And beautiful. What on earth are you doing with an old salty dog like me?"

"You expect me to answer, or was that rhetorical?" Desire still afflicted her voice, rendering it soft and needy.

"Yes. To both."

She glanced down at him, taking in the long black pieces of hair, the ever-present red bandanna, the beads, the black slashes of his brows and moustache and beard, the dancing dark eyes. The pirate.

"You excite me. You fascinate me. You're everything I was told to stay away from as a little girl."

"Yes, and now you know why, don't you?" He opened his mouth against her stomach, again, running his tongue along the flesh of her belly to her navel.

Her head fell back, and he glanced up to see her eyes were closed. He pressed another kiss, mouth open, to her lower abdomen, and then lower, in the nest of curls, and then another, still lower, and another.

"Jack!" she cried in surprise, never having felt a man's mouth, there, uncertain what he meant to do. But it felt wonderful. Her hands came to rest on his shoulders for balance, because her knees felt impossibly weak and she wasn't sure she could stand.

He nudged her thighs apart with one browned, ring-decorated hand, and looked up at her again. "I really have to know what you taste like. The curiosity's been killing me." He leaned in for one more taste, a slow one, covering and gliding over as many peaks and valleys as he could in a single, gentle stroke with the flat of his tongue. As he pulled away and began to close his mouth, she briefly caught sight of the front part of his tongue, round and pink and finely shaped, like his lips.

Then her knees did collapse from under her, and she stumbled toward him, clutching his bare, bronzed shoulders, and he steadied her with quick grasps of her thighs.

"I'd love more of that, Lizzy, but... I'm afraid we don't have time," he said somberly, and wrapped an arm around her knees and another around her waist and lifted her off her feet. He carried her over to his bunk.

After he had laid her down, he turned to quickly divest himself of his breeches, still moist with sea water, and then climbed into the bunk next to her.

Elizabeth's heart nearly stopped, and she had to remind herself to breathe. She was naked with Captain Jack Sparrow.

And he was beautiful, all lean, tanned muscle with black hair dusting his chest and arms and legs. When he covered her body with his, and bent his head to kiss her again, she gave herself over to it completely, and kissed him back as if she would die if she didn't. Her arms slid naturally around his neck and his biceps pressed against the sides of her breasts, as he propped himself on his elbows and kissed her, deeply, completely, tasting every each of her mouth, coaxing her tongue to mate with his, to dance, to taste him as thoroughly as he had tasted her.

When he finally lifted his head up, breaking the kiss, she opened her eyes and saw the scratch on his neck had begun bleeding again, just a little. She remembered how he had licked the wound on her hand, and how sinfully good it had felt, and she pressed her lips to his neck and ran the tip of her tongue, lightly, along the scratch.

"_Christ_, Elizabeth." Then he parted her thighs with his hands and settled himself between them, unable to wait any longer. "Listen, darling, this is going to hurt."

"Hurt?" Her tongue came out to moisten her lips, nervously. "How much... will it hurt?"

He laughed, leaning his forehead against hers. "Truth be told, I haven't the foggiest idea. Not being a woman. As you can, hopefully, tell."

She could definitely tell. With _that_, pressing half inside of her, she was confident beyond a reasonable doubt.

"More than this?" she asked, running her tongue along the cut on his neck, again.

He drew his breath in sharply, and she felt that part of him move slightly, like a spasm, between her legs. "Yes, probably more than that."

"More than... my palm?" She held locks of his hair at his nape, pulling at them playfully.

"Perhaps... perhaps like that, yes." He shifted again, and moved his chest upward so he was looking down into her face. And then he rocked against her, and Elizabeth felt as if she were being split apart...

Part of her clung to everything before that moment: the part of her that wanted to be a decent, proper lady and believed she had an ideal, perfect love in Will, and that people were either good or bad and never both, and that she should have saved herself for marriage, because that's what properly bred young ladies did.

But the other half of her was just as strong: the part of her that gravitated to Jack, to adventure, to ships and pirates and swords. The part of her that did enjoy a good kill. The part of her that chained Jack to the _Pearl_. The part of her that held a dagger to Jack's neck and then threw it away, not because she couldn't kill him, but because she didn't _want_ to. She wanted _this_, instead.

The pain of him entering her was sharp and brought tears to her eyes, but she endured it, knowing it was necessary, knowing she was forging herself, completely, at that moment. And when the pain subsided, and there was only Jack, hot, and hard as iron, deep inside of her, she felt wonderful, and free, and as she began to move against him, she knew it was what she had wanted all along.

Her eyes shot open. The virgin was dead.

Jack was peering down into her face, just then, looking for signs of pain in her features and when she opened her eyes and looked at him, fiercely, her irises seemed to sparkle and become enlivened with something new, something bright and womanly and... truth be told, something not exactly nice.

He realized in that instant that Elizabeth was the lover he'd always needed without his knowing it; his partner in trickery, in deception, in skill, in lust for adventure and pleasure. Neither of them had to pretend, at that moment, that they were anything different, anything better, than they really were.

And it excited him almost beyond the boundaries of his control. He began to move inside her, half of holding him back, urging him to slow down, afraid he would never experience this again, and the other half driving him onward with maddening speed, unable to tap into patience or willpower or anything he'd ever used as he lay with a woman, to make it last.

Pinpricks of pain brought him back to the moment. Elizabeth was raking her nails down his back. Hard.

His breath caught sharply in his throat. "Thought we were done drawing each other's blood, love," he teased, his voice ragged.

Her eyes were shut tightly, and her brow furrowed, her head twisted to the side as she gasped out her answer. "Sorry... it's just... I... it's so..."

"Got to teach you to talk dirty, I s'pose, or else I'll end up a bloody mess."

The tiny bit of pain, coming, as it did, from her, had the immediate effect of severing the cobweb-thin thread that held his control, and his thrusts became wild where they had been deliberate, raw passion crashing them together with an elemental force matched only by the waves of the sea.

Elizabeth soon felt that cup-of-tea warmth again, only this time it was fiercer, more focused, spiraling outward from where Jack lay buried deep within her, growing more and more powerful until it exploded, radiating outward from her core in delicious, licking flames that seemed to reach even her fingers and toes. She clung to his neck and sobbed out her pleasure, wordlessly, even as he drove deeply into her once, twice, three times, and was finally still, shuddering as he found his own release. "God, _Lizzy,_" was all he said, his voice a hoarse groan.

They lay completely still, unmoving in each other's presence, for the first time ever. They were both shaken to the very core by the overwhelming intensity of what had just happened.

Elizabeth recovered her voice first. "What... What are you thinking about?"

"Gold," he lied. Then he opened his eyes to see her blistering look. "Don't look so shocked. I'm a pirate who's just been told there's still a whole lot of _uncursed_ treasure in Isla de Muerta."

She swallowed, narrowing her eyes at him. "Jack, this can't happen again. I love Will. I'm still going to marry him."

He glared down at her. "More polite to wait until a man leaves your body before tossing him out of your bed. My bed."

"Regardless. I do love him. More than anything."

Jack closed his eyes, marveling at the irony of that statement, considering their present situation, and assimilated it into everything he already knew. It was not a surprise. But he didn't enjoy hearing it. He thought for a moment before responding, his voice controlled and light, almost playful.

"Then you'd better figure out how you'll explain your lack of virginity. Or else, be a damned good actress on your wedding night. Whenever. Scream like it hurts like the dickens." At this he did withdraw from her, and rolled away to the side of the bunk.

"It _did_ hurt like the dickens." She scooted backward and sat up.

"Well, then... easier to pretend. But you're good at that, aren't you?"

"I'm sure I'll think of something."

"You always do." He looked back at her, running his eyes over her face and damp hair, then gestured toward the open trunk of ladies' clothes he'd had brought up for her, the previous night. "Get dressed. The others will be stirring." A noise sounded out on the deck, and Jack leapt up, hastily pulling on his still-wet breeches. "And hurry up about it. I'll go tell them you took a tumble overboard."

"You're a wonderful liar, Jack." She swung her legs over the edge of the bunk, and looked up at him admiringly, but there was a note of sarcasm in her voice. "I wouldn't be surprised to learn that your entire life is one big fish story... one giant lie."

He regarded her for a moment, her angelic face, her naked body with drops of sweat and sea water still clinging to her skin, and then smiled his enigmatic smile.

"Like I said before, love... peas in a pod."

Will Turner emerged from below stairs into the brightening daylight. "Hello?" There didn't seem to be anyone on deck, which was strange.

"Jack? Are you out here?" He looked up at the helm, surprised to see it had been tied in place. He ran his eyes over the rest of the deck, and his mouth dropped open in shock.

The first thing he saw was a dagger, wedged between two boards, as though marking the exact center of the deck under the main mast. He began to walk toward it, and his foot kicked something: a brown leather, three-cornered hat. Jack's. He picked it up, bewildered. Jack was never without his hat. He set it on a spoke of the helm, and jogged down the deck stairs, growing more alarmed.

Then everything else came into view.

"What on _earth_..."

A sword – Elizabeth's – rolled aimlessly around towards the side of the deck. A pair of unoccupied boots lay near a pair of shackles, unlocked, right next to a huge puddle of sea water, despite the waves being calm and far below them. His eyes returned to the center. Something lay broken in pieces near the dagger – another sword... Jack's? – and the longboat was upended, with parts of it torn off, as though it had been... bitten. He approached it and something red caught his eye, and he bent to pick it up. A bodice. With the cords shredded.

Nearby, there were spots of what looked like blood, and as he leaned over to brush it with his fingers, something small and brown – several somethings – rolled against his hand, and he picked them up. Buttons. From a man's shirt.

He cast his eyes over the center again, and could see more places where the boards had buckled and splintered, as though torn up. A black three-cornered hat, more blood – and, good Lord, was that _hair?_ – littered the area under the mast.

"What on _earth_... what on earth happened out here?"

Then Will heard a familiar voice from behind him. "Lovely morning, isn't it?"

Jack. Will turned to face him, noting his clothes were wet. "It certainly doesn't look like it! What in the world – "

"Lizzy and I were having a little heart-to-heart, when we had a little visit from Barbossa's heathen deity. Elizabeth took an unscheduled swim – fell overboard, an' I had to fish her out. Nothing we couldn't handle. I let her find some dry clothes in my cabin. She'll be out shortly."

"Elizabeth... fell overboard?" Will looked intently at Jack, sifting through his words carefully. Experience had taught him that the more Jack said, the less likely it was to be true. He watched him warily.

"Yup. But she's all right, no worries at all. I took care of her."

Still suspicious, Will scanned the deck again. "Do I even _want_ to know? About the rest."

"Decidedly not, mate." Jack laid a hand on his shoulder. "Elizabeth versus a heathen god. It was horrible." He shuddered. "For the god."

Just then the doors to Jack's cabin opened, and both men turned toward the sound.

Elizabeth emerged, and two pairs of eyes widened slightly, two mouths parted as they took in her strangely radiant beauty. She had coiled her damp hair on top of her head, exposing her elegant, cheekbones, fine jaw and even, high forehead. She wore a dress – for a change – and though it wasn't made for her, it couldn't have suited her more. It was crimson silk, and framed her creamy shoulders and arms closely, tapering down into a boned bodice and a full skirt. The trim and sleeves were gold lace, as were the cords that held the bodice together in a straight line down her back. She carried herself like a queen, as she walked toward them. Both men stared as though suddenly struck dumb.

She walked to Jack first, and took his hands in hers. As she leaned closer, Jack thought in a sudden, unreasonable panic, _Is she going to kiss me? Here? Right in front of him? Does she want me killed after all?_ and had already resigned himself to his fate when he felt the gentle brush of her lips on his weather-roughened cheek.

"Thank you for saving me, Jack," she said quietly, but loudly enough for Will to hear. Then she turned to Will.

She took his hands, and leaned up to kiss him, full on the mouth, and Jack watched, unable to look away from her lips, from those lips that had so recently been his, and his alone. He watched as they parted to touch Will's, and opened, sliding along his unsmiling mouth, before he gave in and moved his mouth against hers, kissing her back.

Jack stared, almost uncomprehendingly, frozen to the spot. It was only a moment of disbelief, only a moment of raw longing, before he reminded himself that his only real love was the sea.

But Will opened his eyes and looked right at Jack, then, his lips still touching Elizabeth's. And the look in Will's eyes was oddly shrewd, for Will. And something else, Jack thought.

Satisfied. Immensely gratified. Even... gloating. _He knows_, was Jack's unbidden, irrational thought.

Jack immediately turned away, and sauntered toward the helm. He observed his hat dangling from one of the spokes. "Oh, look who's turned up."

At the sound of his voice Elizabeth broke the kiss, and allowed Will to slide an arm about her shoulders. The three of them stood there on the deck for a moment, the morning sun beginning to beat down in earnest. For a short while, no one spoke.

Then, Will asked, "Are we still on course? Heading home?"

"Right as rain, mates," was what Jack said, with a cocky smile.

But as he did so he thought, _Heading home? You are._

He lifted his hat off the spoke of the helm, and placed it securely on his head.

_I am home._

_FINE_

_A/N: Comments, suggestions welcome. If you actually read this whole long thing – it was 71 pages in Word – congratulations, and I love you. Leave a review if you liked, suggestions if you didn't._

_The sequel to this story is being written and posted on my LiveJournal. h-t-t-p-:-/-/-piratemistress dot livejournal dot com._

_It has blossomed to novel-length and while I will post it in its entireity on AFF dot NET (not dot com) the content is too explicit for THIS site. Please visit it on my LJ and I will update this note when it is posted on AFF dot NET. Here's a preview:_

_The Queen Elizabeth is fine for now, but she's not the Pearl. Tia Dalma's magic provides Jack with an extremely dangerous, but possible way of reclaiming the Pearl – he's got to (magically) sail it back from an alternate reality by defeating, and stealing it from the most brutal, vicious pirate ever to sail an alternate universe: the real Lady E. He's accompanied part-way by his faithful newlywed friends Elizabeth and Will Turner, and Gibbs and the rest. But something goes wrong and Jack ends up in yet another alternate reality as well – one where Will is dead and Jack is married to Elizabeth. (But in that dimension, as he unfortunately discovers, there's no rum.) Jack/Mrs. Sparrow? Definitely. Jack/Lady E? Could be. Jack/Elizabeth Turner? You better believe it. And how. And Jack might even introduce Lady E to Will... all of these adventures can be found in the growing novel-length fic (24 chapters and counting) called "Ship in a Bottle"._

_Excerpt:_

From Chapter 4: Parting the Mists

"So how does this work, exactly?" Will said from a few feet behind Jack, who stood as close as possible to the prow.

"Well, what I got from the witch was something like: pour a drop from the magic bottle, behold the mist, sail into the mist, battle evil pirate wench, reclaim the _Pearl_. How's that sound?" He steadied himself as the _Elizabeth_ rolled again, and then uncorked the bottle without looking at Will.

"It sounds over-simplified," Will answered dryly.

"We'll find out soon, won't we?"

All eyes were on Jack as he gripped the bottle in his left hand, leaned over the port side of the prow, and gently tilted the bottle, and after a moment, a dollop of the thick golden liquid emerged from the lip of the bottle and fell straight down to the sea.

Everyone shuffled as far as they could toward the port side of the deck, peering down into the water. At first, nothing happened. A few crewmen mumbled about not trusting the witch, and turned back to their posts. A few others disappeared below.

Jack stared at the waves, wide-eyed, willing something to happen. Anything.

Then, as though a submerged whale had emptied its blowhole off the port bow, a great column of water shot upward, and a cloud of mist seemed to be drawn off the surface of the sea. The cloud grew in height and width until it was half the size of the Elizabeth itself, and everyone on deck gaped in wonder.

Excerpt from Chapter 13: Close Encounters

Elizabeth did not so much awake as become aware of movement near her. Her eyelids opened slowly, and she immediately closed them again, since they were heavy and she felt so weary... why couldn't she sleep? The room was a dim gray, and she guessed that it was very near dawn. She opened her eyes again.

Jack. She was in Jack's bed.

Panic rose, constricting her throat. She was staring straight at Jack, who seemed to be sleeping rather peacefully, except that he had just reached for her and brought her closer. She blinked, regarding him in the growing light.

Deep down, she had always thought Jack handsome. Mentally, of course, she washed him and combed him and stripped off his rags and scarves and that well-worn bandanna, which he still wore and which was partially obscured by a flattened pillow. But now she had ceased to make those imaginary alterations, and accepted the smudges, the beads, the knotted hair, the braids. She looked at him as he slept, thinking how rarely she got a chance to see him this close without him doing something to either distance them or close the distance between them. Or without ruining the moment by opening his mouth, which now, in the quiet grey dawn of his cabin, was mercifully shut.

Her eyes explored the line of his cheekbones. They were quite high, elegant even, and she thought perhaps this was the feature that deluded her into believing him a gentleman on the inside, instead of a rogue through and through. His nose, centered perfectly between those admirable cheekbones, was less elegant – a few mounds seemed to rise along its length like the gentlest waves lapping at the shore. Perhaps it had been broken once or twice. Perhaps he was born with an unusual nose. But it suited his devil-may-care personality much more than those aristocratically raised cheekbones. All right, she ceded to herself. He looks like both a respectable man, and a scoundrel. I'm not entirely insane.

Next her gaze fell to his mouth. Her lips parted and she reminded herself to breathe as she took in the black hair that sprouted boldly from his upper lip, exposing only the playful dip in the center of it. _That_ was pure pirate. Mysterious. Arrogant. Elusive. And his lower lip... her eyebrows rose and her eyes nearly watered as she examined its generous sweeping curve, so full that she could discern each tiny crease and fold, above the saucy triangle of hair that emerged from its base. A man had no right to have a lip like that, she thought. And he knew how to use it to his advantage – like everything else – by biting it thoughtfully, sticking it out in a pout, capturing her own lips with it... a small sigh escaped, and she told herself she ought to, had to, take her last look at Captain Jack Sparrow and move on with her life.

Then he suddenly opened his eyes, and looked straight at her.

It was as though a bolt of lightning had struck her, jolting her out of her private thoughts and sizzling right through her entire body. Part of it was surprise – she had thought him still asleep – and part was simple reaction to the clarity, the intensity of his dark eyes, the whites visible in the early light, the irises the color of rich, dark coffee and his pupils wide in the dimness of the room. Looking at him, looking back at her, was simply electrifying.

He didn't move at all, only regarded her. For a moment. He'd caught her looking, she knew, and she was still embarrassed, still scrambling to concoct a why and where and how. But her mind was foggy with exhaustion, and Jack's hand curled possessively around her side, making her even less able to think.

"Like what you see, love?"

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Enjoy Lady Pirate a.k.a. PirateMistress


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